i 


JAMES  WHITC 


LIBRARY 

University  of 

California 

Irvine 


AFTERWHILES 


JSg  tbe  Same  Butbor. 

XEGHBORLY  POEMS  ox  FRIENDSHIP,  GRIEF  AND 
FARM-LIFE— Including  "The  Old  Swimmin' 
Hole"  Series— Exclusively  in  Hoosier  Dia 
lect  and  Character. 

SKETCHES  IN  PROSE— With  Occasional  Poems. 

AFTERWHILES — Serious  and  Dialect  Poetry. 

PIPES  o'  PAN— Five  Sketches  and  Fifty  Poems. 

RHYMES  OF  CHILDHOOD  —  Child-Dialect  and 
Other  Verses. 

THE  FLYING  ISLANDS  OF  THE  NIGHT— A  Fantas 
tic  Drama  in  Verse. 

THE  ABOVE  BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY 

THE  BOWEN-MERRILL  Co.,  INDIANAPOLIS. 


IN  ENGLAND : 

OLD-FASHIONED  ROSES  —  Poems,    Dialect   and 
Various. 

LONGMANS,  GREEN  &  Co.,  LONDON 


AFTERWHILES 


BY 

JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILEY 


SEVENTEENTH   THOUSAND 


BOWEN-MERRILL  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1887 

BY 
JAMES  WHITCOMB  RILET 


TO   HUMBOLDT   RILEY 


/  can  not  say,  and  I  will  not  say 
T^at  he  is  dead. — lie  is  jaet  away. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

PROEM 1 

HERR  WEISER 5 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  CITY 7 

LOCKERBIE  STREET    .....  10 

DAS  KRIST  KINDEL 12 

ANSELMO 18 

A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY  TALE 19 

THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND  THE  SUN 21 

THE  LOST  Kiss 30 

THE  SPHINX 33 

IF  I  KNEW  WHAT  POETS  KNOW 34 

IKE  WALTON'S  PKAYER 36 

A  ROUGH  SKETCH 39 

OUR  KIND  OF  A  MAN 40 

THE  HARPER 42 

OLD  AUNT  MARY'S 43 

ILLILEO 46 

THE  KINI. 49 

A  BRIDE 52 

THE  DEAD  LOVER 54 

A  SONG 56 

WHEN  BESSIE  DIED 57 

THE  SHOWER 59 

A  LIFE  LESSON i;i 

A  SCRAWL 03 

AWAY 6-1 

WHO  BIDES  His  TIME C6 

FROM  THE  HEADBOARD  OF  A  GRAVE  IN  PARAGUAY as 

LAUGHTER  HOLDING  BOTH  His  SIDES ,69 


SONNETS. 

PAGE. 

PAN 73 

DUSK 74 

JUNE 75 

SILENCE 76 

TIME 77 

SLEEP 79 

HER  HAIR 80 

DEARTH 81 

A  VOICE  FROM  THE  FARM 82 

WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME 83 

ART  AND  LOVE 84 

IN  DIALECT. 

GRIGGSBY'S  STATION 87 

KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE 91 

WHEN  THE  HEARSE  COMES  BACK 97 

A  CANARY  AT  THE  FARM 101 

A  LIZ-TOWN  HUMORIST 103 

KINGRY'S  MILL 105 

JONEY 110 

NOTHIN'  TO  SAY 114 

LIKE  His  MOTHER  USED  TO  MAKE 116 

THE  TRAIN-MISSER 119 

GRANNY 121 

OLD  OCTOBER 124 

JIM 126 

A  TALE  OF  THE  AIRLY  DAYS 130 

To  ROBERT  BURNS 133 

A  NEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'S 137 

THE  TOWN  KARNTEEL 146 

REGARDIN'  TERRY  HUT 148 

LEEDLE  DUTCH  BABY  .    .    .    .    • 151 

DOWN  ON  WRIGGLE  CRICK 153 

WHEN  DE  FOLKS  is  GONE 157 

THE  LITTLE  TOWN  o'  TAILHOLT  .  159 


NOTE.—  Acknowledgments  are  due  the  courtesy  of  the  CENTURY 
MAGAZINE  for  reprint  here  of  the  poems  "  When  She  Comes  Home,' 
and  "Kothin'  to  Say.'' 


AFTERWHILES 


T If  II ERE  are   (hey—the  Af/crwhiles- 
r  r         Luring  us  the  lengthening  miles 

()J  our  lives?      Where  is  the  dawn 

With  (he  dew  across  the  lami 

Stroked  with  eager  feet  (he  far 

Way  (he  hill*  and  valleys  are? 

Where  the  sun  that  smites  the  frown 

Of  the  eastward-gazer  down  ? 

Where  the  rifted  wreathes  of  mist 

O'er  us,  tinged  with  amethyst, 

Round  the  mountain's  steep  defiles? 

Where  are  all  the  afterwhilesf 

Afterwhile —  and  ire  will  go 
Thither,  yon,  and  to  and  fro  — 
from  the  stifling  city-streets 
To  the  country's  cool  retreats  — 
From  the  riot  to  the  rest 
Where  hearts  beat  the  placidest; 
Afterwhile,  and  we  will  fall 
Under  breezy  trees,  and  loll 
Jn  the  shade,  with  thirsty  sight 
Drinking  deep  the  blue  dc/ight 
Of  the  skies  that  will  beguile 
Us  as  children  —  afterwhUe. 


Afterwhile  —  and  one  intends 
To  be  gentler  to  his  friends  — 
To  walk  with  them,  in  the  hush 
Of  still  evenings,  o'er  the  plush 
Of  home-leading  fields,  and  stand 
Long  at  parting,  hand  in  hand: 
One,  in  time,  will  joy  to  take 
New  resolves  for  someone's  sake, 
And  wear  then  the  look  that  lies 
Clear  and  pure  in  other  eyes  — 
He  will  soothe  and  reconcile 
His  own  conscience  —  afterwhilc. 

Aj'terwhile  —  we  h<tve  in  view 
A  far  scene  to  journey  to. — 
Where  the  old  home  is,  and  where 
The  old  mother  icaits  us  there, 
Peering,  as  the  time  grows  late, 
Down  the  old  path  to  the  gate. — 
How  we'll  click  the  latch  that  lock* 
In  the  pinks  and  hollyhocks, 
And  leap  up  the  path  once  more 
Where  she  waits  us  at  the  door!  — 
How  we'll  greet  the  dear  old  smile, 
And  the  warm  tears  —  afterwhile/ 


A  h,  the  endless  afterwhiles  !  — 
Leagues  on  leagues,  and  miles  on  miles, 
In  the  distance  far  withdrawn, 
Stretching  on,  and  on,  and  on, 
Till  the  fancy  is  footsore 
And  faints  in  the  dust  before 
The  last  milestone's  granite  face, 
Hacked  with  :     Here  Beginneth  Space. 
O  far  glimmering  worlds  and  wings, 
Mystic  smiles  and  beckonings, 
Lead  us,  through  the  shadoivy  aisles 
Out  into  the  afterwhiles. 


IIERR  WEISER. 

IT  ERR   WEISER !  —  Threc-score-ycars-and-ten,- 

-*•  -*•     A  liale  white  rose  of  his  countrymen, 

Transplanted  here  in  the  Hoosier  loam, 

And  blossomy  as  his  German  home  — 

As  blossomy,  and  a.s  pure  and  sweet 

As  the  cool  green  glen  of  his  calm  retreat, 

Far  withdrawn  from  the  noisy  town 

Where  trade  goes  clamoring  up  and  down, 

Whose  fret  and  fever,  and  stress  and  strife 

May  not  trouble  his  tranquil  life ! 

Breath  of  rest,  what  a  balmy  gust !  — 

Quit  of  the  city's  heat  and  dust, 

Jostling  down  by  the  winding  road, 

Through  the  orchard  ways  of  his  quaint  abode.— 

Tether  the  horse,  as  we  onward  fare 

Under  the  pear-trees  trailing  there, 

And  thumping  the  wooden  bridge  at  night 

With  lumps  of  ripeness  and  lush  delight, 

Till  the  stream,  as  it  maunders  on  till  dawn, 

Is  powdered  and  pelted  and  smiled  upon. 


Herr  Weiser,  with  his  wholesome  face, 

And  the  gentle  blue  of  his  eyes,  and  grace 

Of  unassuming  honesty, 

Be  there  to  welcome  you  and  me ! 

And  what  though  the  toil  of  the  farm  be  stopped 

And  the  tireless  plans  of  the  place  be  dropped, 

While  the  prayerful  master's  knees  are  set 

In  beds  of  pansy,  and  mignonette, 

And  lily  and  aster  and  columbine, 

Offered  in  love,  as  yours  and  mine?  — 

What,  but  a  blessing  of  kindly  thought, 

Sweet  as  the  breath  of  forget-me-not !  — 

What,  but  a  spirit  of  lustrous  love 

White  as  the  aster  he  bends  above !  — 

What,  but  an  odorous  memory 

Of  the  dear  old  man,  made  known  to  me 

In  days  demanding  a  help  like  his, — 

As  sweet  as  the  life  of  the  lily  is  — 

As  sweet  as  the  soul  of  a  babe,  bloom-wise 

Born  of  a  lily  in  paradise. 


THE  BE  A  UTIFUL  CITY, 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  CITY!    Forever 
Its  rapturous  praises  resound ; 
We  fain  would  behold  it — but  never 

A  glimpse  of  its  glory  is  found : 
We  slaeken  our  lips  at  the  tender 

White  breasts  of  our  mothers  to  hear 
Of  its  marvelous  beauty  and  splendor  ;-- 
We  see — but  the  gleam  of  a  tear! 

Yet  never  the  story  may  tire  us — 

First  graven  in  symbols  of  stone — 
Rewritten  on  scrolls  of  papyrus, 

And  parchment,  and  scattered  and  blown 
By  the  winds  of  the  tongues  of  all  nations, 

Like  a  litter  of  leaves  wildly  whirled 
Down  the  rack  of  a  hundred  translations, 

From  the  earliest  lisp  of  the  world. 


We  compass  the  earth  and  the  ocean, 

From  the  Orient's  uttermost  light, 
To  where  the  last  ripple  in  motion 

Lips  hem  of  the  skirt  of  the  night, — 
But  The  Beautiful  City  evades  us — 

No  spire  of  it  glints  in  the  sun — 
No  glad-bannered  battlement  shades  us 

When  all  our  long  journey  is  done. 

Where  lies  it?  We  question  and  listen; 

We  lean  from  the  mountain,  or  mast, 
And  see  but  dull  earth,  or  the  glisten 

Of  seas  inconceivably  vast: 
The  dust  of  the  one  blurs  our  vision — 

The  glare  of  the  other  our  brain, 
Nor  city  nor  island  elysian 

In  all  of  the  land  or  the  main! 

We  kneel  in  dim  fanes  where  the  thunders 

Of  organs  tumultuous  roll, 
And  the  longing  heart  listens  and  wonders, 

And  the  eyes  look  aloft  from  the  soul, 


But  the  chanson  grows  fainter  and  fainter, 
Swoons  wholly  away  and  is  dead ; 

And  our  eyes  only  reach  where  the  painter 
Has  dabbled  a  saint  overhead. 

The  Beautiful  City !    O  mortal, 

Fare  hopefully  on  in  thy  quest, 
Pass  down  through  the  green  grassy  portal 

That  leads  to  the  Valley  of  Rest, 
There  first  passed  the  One  who,  in  pity 

Of  all  thy  great  yearning,  awaits 
To  point  out  The  Beautiful  City, 

And  loosen  the  trump  at  the  gates. 


LOCKERBIE  STREET. 

SUCH  a  dear  little  street  it  is,  nestled  away 
From  the  noise  of  the  city  and  heat  of  the  day, 
In  cool  shady  coverts  of  whispering  trees, 
With  their  leaves  lifted  up  to  shake  hands  with  the 

breeze 

Which  in  all  its  wide  wanderings  never  may  meet 
With  a  resting-place  fairer  than  Lockerbie  street ! 

There  is  such  a  relief,  from  the  clangor  and  din 
Of  the  heart  of  the  town,  to  go  loitering  in 
Through  the  dim,  narrow  walks,  with  the  sheltering 

shade 

Of  the  trees  waving  over  the  long  promenade, 
And  littering  lightly  the  ways  of  our  feet 
AVith  the  gold  of  the  sunshine  of  Lockerbie  street. 

And  the  nights  that  come  'down  the  dark  pathways 

of  dusk, 
With  the  stars  in  their  tresses,  and  odors  of  musk 


In  their  moon-woven  raiments,  bespangled  with  dews, 
And  looped  up  with  lilies  for  lovers  to  use 
In  the  songs  that  they  sing  to  the  tinkle  and  beat 
Of  their  sweet  serenadings  through  Lockerbie  street. 

(),  my  Lockerbie  street!     You  are  fair  to  be  seen  — 
lie  it  noon  of  the  day,  or  the  rare  and  serene 
Afternoon  of  the  night  —  you  arc  one  to  my  heart, 
And  I  love  you  above  all  the  phrases  of  art, 
For  no  language  could  frame,   and   no  lips  could 

repeat 
My  rhyme-haunted  raptures  of  Lockerbie  street. 


DAS  KEIST  KINDEL. 

I  HAD  fed  the  fire  and  stirred  it,  till  the  sparkles 
in  delight 

Snapped  their  saucy  little  fingers  at  the  chill  Decem 
ber  night; 
And  in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  I  had  tilted  hack 

"  my  throne  "- 

The  old  split-bottomed  rocker  —  and  was  musing  all 
alone. 


I  could  hear  the  hungry  Winter  prowling  round  the 

outer  door, 
And  the  tread  of  muffled  footsteps  on  the  white 

piazza  floor ; 
But  the  sounds  came  to  me  only  as  the  murmur  of  a 

stream 
That   mingled   with  the  current  of  a  lazy-flowing 

dream. 


12 


Like  a  fragrant  incense  rising,  curled  the  smoke  of 
my  cigar, 

With  the  lamp-light  gleaming  through  it  like  a  mist- 
enfolded  star ;  — 

And  as  I  gazed,  the  vapor  like  a  curtain  rolled  away, 

With  a  sound  of  bells  that  tinkled,  and  the  clatter 
of  a  sleigh. 

And  in  a  vision,  painted  like  a  picture  in  the  air, 
I  saw  the  elfish  figure  of  a  man  with  frosty  hair  — 
A  quaint  old  man  that  chuckled  with  a  laugh  as  he 

appeared, 
And  with  ruddy  cheeks  like  embers  ill  the  ashes  of 

his  beard. 

He   poised  himself  grotesquely,  in  an  attitude   of 

mirth, 
On  a  damask -covered  hassock  that  was  sitting  on  the 

hearth  ; 

And  at  a  magic  signal  of  his  stubby  little  thumb, 
I  saw  the  fireplace  changing  to  a  bright  proscenium. 


And  looking  there,  I  marveled  as  I  saw  a  mimic 
stage 

Alive  with  little  actors  of  a  very  tender  age ; 

And  some  so  very  tiny  that  they  tottered  as  they 
walked, 

And  lisped  and  purled  and  gurgled  like  the  brook 
lets,  when  they  talked. 

And  their  faces  were  like  lilies,  and  their  eyes  like 

purest  dew, 
And  their  tresses  like  the  shadows  that  the  shine  is 

woven  through ; 
And  they  each  had  little  burdens,  and  a  little  tale  to 

tell 
Of  fairy  lore,  and  giants,  and  delights  delectable. 

And  they  mixed  and  intermingled,  weaving  melody 

with  joy, 
Till   the   magic  circle  clustered  round  a  blooming 

baby-boy ; 
And  they  threw  aside  their  treasures  in  an  ecstasy  of 

glee, 
And  bent,  with  dazzled  faces,  and  with  parted  lips, 

to  see. 

14 


Twas  a  wondrous  little  fellow,  with  a  dainty  double 

chin, 
And  chubby  cheeks,  and  dimples  for  the  smiles  to 

blossom  in  ; 
And  he  looked  as  ripe  and  rosy,  on  his  bed  of  straw 

and  reeds, 
As  a  mellow  little  pippin  that  had  tumbled  in  the 

weeds. 

And  I  saw  the  happy  mother,  and  a  group  surround 
ing  her, 
That  knelt  with  costly  presents  of  frankincense  and 

myrrh  ; 
And  I  thrilled  with  awe  and  wonder,  as  a  murmur 

on  the  aii- 
Came    drifting    o'er    the    hearing    in    a    melody    of 
prayer :  — 

BIJ  the  splendor  in,  the  heavens,  and  (lie  Jiush  \ipon  the 

sea, 

And  the  mnjctly  of  silence  reigning  over  Galilee, — 
We  feel  Tlnj  Idnnbj  presence,  and  we  humbly  bow  the 

knee 
And  lift  oar  hearts  and  voices  in  gratefulness  to  Thee. 


Thy  messenger  has  spoken,  and  our  doubts  have  fled  and 

gone 
As  the  dark  and  spectral  sJiadows  of  the  night  before 

the  dawn; 

And,  in  the  kindly  shelter  of  the  light  around  us  draivn, 
We  ivould,  nestle  down  forever  in  the  breast  we  lean  upon. 

You  have  given  us  a  shepherd —  You  have  given  its  a 

guide, 
And  the  light  of  Heaven  greio  dimmer  iclien   You  sent 

Him  from   Your  side, — 
But  He  comes  to  lead    Thy  children   where   the   gates 

will  open  wide 
To  welcome  His  returning  when  His  works  are  glorified. 

By  the  splendor  in  the  Heavens,  and  the  hush  upon  tJie 

sea, 

Ami  the  majesty  of  silence  reigning  over  Galilee, — 
We  feel  Thy  kingly  presence,  and  ive  humbly  bow  the 

knee 
Ami  lift  our  hearts  and  voices  in  gratefulness  to  Thee. 


16 


Then  the  vision,  slowly  failing,  with  the  words  of 
the  refrain, 

Fell  swooning  in  the  moonlight  through  the  frosty 
window-pane ; 

And  I  heard  the  clock  proclaiming,  like  an  eager 
sentinel 

Who  brings  the  world  good  tidings,  —  "  It  is  Christ 
mas  —  all  is  well ! " 


ANSELMO. 

^\7EARS  did  I  vainly  seek  the  good  Lord's  grace, — 
•^    Prayed,  fasted  and  did  penance  dire  and  dread ; 
Did  kneel  with  bleeding  knees  and  rainy  face, 

And  mouth  the  dust,  with  ashes  on  my  head ; 
Yea,  still,  with  knotted  scourge  the  flesh  I  flayed, 

Rent  fresh  the  wounds,  and  moaned  and  shrieked 

insanely ; 
And  froth  oozed  with  the  pleadings  that  I  made, 

And  yet  I  prayed  on  vainly,  vainly,  vainly ! 

A  time,  from  out  of  swoon,  I  lifted  eye, 

To  find  a  wretched  outcast,  gray  and  grim, 
Bathing  my  brow,  with  many  a  pitying  sigh, 

And  I  did  pray  God's  grace  might  rest  on  him. — 
Then,  lo !  a  gentle  voice  fell  on  mine  ears  — 

"Thou  shalt  not  sob  in  suppliauce  hereafter; 
Take  up  thy  prayers  and  wring  them  dry  of  tears, 

And   lift  them,  white  and   pure,  with  love  and 
laughter!" 

So  is  it  now  for  all  men  else   I  pray ; 
So  is  it  I  am  blest  and  glad  alway. 


A  HOME-MADE  FAIRY  TALE. 

T)UD,  come  here  to  your  Uncle  a  spell, 

•*-'     And  I'll  tell  you  something  you  mustn't  tell  — 

For  it's  a  secret  and  shore-nuff  true, 

And  maybe  I  oughtn't  to  tell  it  to  you !  — 

But  out  in  the  garden,  under  the  shade 

Of  the  apple-trees,  where  we  romped  and  played 

Till  the  moon  was  up,  and  you  thought  I'd  gone 

Fast  asleep, — That  was  all  put  on  ! 

For  I  was  a-watchin'  something  queer 

(join'  on  there  in  the  grass,  my  dear !  — 

'Way  down  deep  in  it,  there  I   sec 

A  little  dude  fairy  who  winked  at  me, 

And  snapped  his  fingers,  and  laughed  as  low 

And  fine  as  the  whine  of  a  mus-kee-to ! 

I  kept  still  —  watchin'  him  closer  —  and 

I  noticed  a  little  guitar  in  his  hand, 

Which  he  leant  'ginst  a  little  dead  bee  —  and  luid 

His  cigarette  down  on  a  clean  grass-blade; 

id 


And  then  climbed  up  on  the  shell  of  a  snail  - 

Carefully  dusting  his  swallowtail  — 

And  pulling  up,  by  a  waxed  web-thread, 

This  little  guitar,  you  remember,  I  said  ! 

And  there  he  trinkled  and  trilled  a  tune  — 

"  My  Love,  so  fair,  Tans  in  the  Moon!" 

Till,  presently,  out  of  the  clover-top 

He  seemed  to  be  singing  to,  came,  k'pop! 

The  purtiest,  daintiest  fairy  face 

In  all  this  world,  or  any  place! 

Then  the  little  ser'nader  waved  his  hand, 

As  much  as  to  say,  "We'll  excuse  you!"  and 

I  heard,  as  I  squinted  my  eyelids  to, 

A  kiss  like  the  drip  of  a.  drop  of  dew! 


20 


THE  SOUTH  WIND  AND   THE  SUN. 

THE  South  Wind  and  the  Sun! 
How  each  loved  the  other  one — • 
Full  of  fancy  —  full  of  folly  — 
Full  of  jollity  and    fun! 
How  they  romped  and  ran  about, 
Like  two  boys  when  school  is  out, 
With  glowing  face,  and  lisping  lip, 
Low  laugh,  and   lifted  shout! 

And  the  South  Wind  —  he  was  dressed 
AVith  a  ribbon  round    his  breast 

That  floated,  flapped  and  fluttered 
In  a  riotous  unrest, 
And  a  drapery  of  mist, 
From  the  shoulder  and  the  wrist 

Flowing  backward   with  the  motion 
Of   the  waving    hand    he   kissed. 


And  the  Sun  had  on  a  crown 

Wrought  of  gilded  thistledown, 
And  a  scarf  of  velvet  vapor, 

And  a  raveled-rainbow  gown; 

And  his  tinsel-tangled  hair, 

Tossed  and  lost  upon  the  air, 
Was  glossier  and  flossier 

Than  any  anywhere. 

And  the  South  Wind's  eyes  were  two 

Little  dancing  drops  of  dew, 
As  he  puffed   his  cheeks,  and  pursed   his  lips, 

And  blew  and  blew  and  blew ! 

And  the  Sun's — like  diamond-stone, 

Brighter  yet  than  ever  known, 
As  he  knit  his  brows  and  held  his  breath, 

And  shone  and  shone  and  shone ! 

And  this  pair  of  merry  fays 
Wandered   through  the  summer  days; 
Arm-in-arm  they  went  together 
Over  heights  of  morning  haze  — 


22 


Over  slanting  slopes  of  lawn 
They  went  on  and  on  and  on, 
"Where  the  daisies  looked  like  star-tracks 
Trailing  up  and  down  the  dawn. 

And  where'er  they  found  the  top 

Of  a  wheat-stalk  droop  and  lop 
They  chucked  it  underneath  the  chin 

And  praised  the  lavish  crop, 

Till  it  lifted  with  the  pride 

Of  the  heads  it  grew  beside, 
And  then  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun 

"Went  onward  satisfied. 

Over  meadow-lands   they  tripped, 

Where  the  dandelions  dipped 
Tn  crimson  foam  of  clover-bloom, 

And  dripped  and  dripped  and  dripped  ; 

And  they  clinched  the  bumble-stings. 

Gauming  honey  on  their  wings, 
And  bundling  them  in  lily-bells, 

"With  maudlin  murniurinars. 


And   the  humming-bird,  that  himg 

Like  a  jewel  up  among 
The  tilted  honeysuckle-horns, 

They  mesmerized,  and  swung 

In  the  palpitating  air, 

Drowsed  with  odors  strange  and  rare, 
And,  with  whispered  laughter,  slipped  away, 

And  left  him  hanging  there. 

And  they  braided  blades  of  grass 
Where  the  truant  had  to  pass; 

And  they  wriggled  through  the  rushes 
And  the  reeds  of  the  morass, 
Where  they  danced,  in  rapture  sweet, 
O'er  the  leaves  that  laid  a  street 

Of  undulant  mosaic  for 
The  touches  of  their  feet. 

By  the  brook  with  mossy  brink, 
Where  the  cattle  came  to  drink, 
They  trilled   and  piped  and  whistled 
With  the  thrush  and  bobolink, 


Till  the  kinc,  in  listless  pause, 
Switched  their  tails  in  mute  applause, 
With  lifted  heads,  and  dreamy  eyes, 
And  bubble-dripping  jaws. 

And  where  the   melons  grew, 
Streaked  with  yellow,  green  and  blue, 

These  jolly  sprites,  went  wandering 
Through  spangled  paths  of  dew; 
And  the  melons,  here  and  there, 
They  made  love  to,  everywhere, 

Turning  their  pink  souls  to  crimson 
With  caresses  fond  and  fair. 

Over  orchard  walls  they  went, 

Where  the  fruited  boughs  were  bent 
Till  they  brushed  the  sward  beneath  them 

Where  the  .shine  and  shadow  blent; 

And  the  great  green  pear  they  shook 

Till  the  sallow  hue  forsook 
Its  features,  and  the  gleam  of  gold 

Laughed  out  in  every  look. 


And  they  stroked  the  downy  cheek 
Of  the  peach,  and  smoothed  it  sleek, 

And  flushed  it  into  splendor; 
And,  with  many  an  elfish  freak, 
Gave  the  russet's  rust  a  wipe — 
Frankt  the  rarnbo  with  a  stripe, 

And  the  wiuesap  blushed  its  reddest 
As  they  spanked  the  pippins  ripe. 

Through  the  woven  ambuscade 
That  the  twining  vines  had  made, 

They  found  the  grapes,  in  clusters, 
Drinking  up  the  shine  and  shade — 
Plumpt,  like  tiny  skins  of  wine, 
With  a  vintage  so  divine 

That  the  tongue  of  fancy  tingled 
With  the  tang  of  muscadine. 

And  the  golden-banded  bees, 
Droning  o'er  the  flowery  leas, 
They  bridled,  reined,  and  rode  away 
Across  the  fragrant  breeze, 


Till  in  hollow  oak  and  elm 
They  had  groomed  and  stabled  them 
In  waxen  stalls  that  oozed  with  dews 
Of  rose  and  lily-stem. 

Where  the  dusty  highway  leads, 
High  above  the  wayside  weeds, 

They  sowed  the  air  with  butterflies 
Like  blooming  flower-seeds, 
Till  the  dull  grasshopper  sprung 
Half  a  man's  height  up,   and  hung 

Tranced  in  the  heat,    with  whin-ing  wings, 
And  sung  and  sung  and  smiir ! 

O  o  <^> 

And  they  loitered,   hand  in  hand, 
Where  the  snipe  along  the  sand 

Of  the  river  ran  to  meet  them 
As  the  ripple  meets  the  land, 
Till    the  dragonfly,   in  light 
Gauzy  armor,   burnished  bright, 

Came  tilting  down   the   waters 
hi  a  wild,   bewildered  flight. 


And  they  heard  the  killdee's  call, 

And  afar,  the  waterfall, 
But  the  rustle  of  a  falling  leaf 

They  heard  above  it  all; 

And    the  trailing  willow  crept 

Deeper  in  the  tide  that  swept 
The  leafy  shallop  to   the  shore, 

And  wept  and  wept  and  wept! 

And  the  fairy  vessel  veered 
From  its  moorings  —  tacked  and  steered 
For  the  center  of  the  current  — 
Sailed  away  and  disappeared : 
And  the  burthen  that  it  bore 
From  the  long-enchanted  shore  — 
"Alas!  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun!" 
I   murmur  evermore. 

For  the  South  Wind  and  the  Sun, 
Each  so  loves  the  other  one, 
For  all  his  jolly  folly, 
And  frivolity  and  fun, 


28 


That  our  love  for  them  they  weigh 
As  their  fickle  fancies  may, 
And    when  at  last  we  love  them  most, 
They  laugh  and  sail  away. 


THE  LOST  KISS. 

T  PUT  by  the  half-written  poem, 

-*-     While  the  pen,  idly  trailed  in  my  hand, 

Writes  on, — "Had  I  words  to  complete  it, 

Who'd  read  it,  or  who'd  understand?" 
But  the  little  bare  feet  on  the  stairway, 

And  the  faint,  smothered   laugh  in  the  hall, 
And  the  eerie-low  lisp  on  the  silence, 

Cry  up  to  me  over  it  all. 

So  I  gather  it  up — where  was  broken 

The  tear-faded  thread  of  my  theme, 
Telling  how,  as  one  night  I  sat  writing, 

A  fairy  broke  in  on  my  dream, 
A  little  inquisitive  fairy  — 

My  own  little  girl,  with  the  gold 
Of  the  sun  in  her  hair,  and  the  dewy 

Blue  eyes  of  the  fairies  of  old. 

so 


Twas  the  dear  little  girl   that   I  scolded  — 

"For  was  it  a  moment  like   this," 
I  said,   "when  she  knew  I  was  busy, 

To  come  romping  in  for  a  kiss? — 
Come  rowdying  up  from  her  mother, 

And  clamoring  there  at  my  knee 
For  '  One  'ittle  kis.s  for  my  dolly, 

And  one  'ittlc  uzzer  for  me  ! ' ': 

God  pity  the  heart  that  repelled  her, 

And  the  cold  hand  that  turned  her  away ! 
And  take,  from  the  lips  that  denied  her, 

This  answerless  prayer  of  to-day ! 
Take,  Lord,  from  my  mem'ry  forever 

That  pitiful  sob  of  despair, 
And  the  patter  and  trip  of  the  little  bare  feet, 

And  the  one  piercing  cry  on  the  stair! 

I  put  by  the  half-written  poem, 

While  the  pen,  idly  trailed  in  my  hand, 

Writes  on,  "Had  I  words  to  complete  it, 
Who'd  read  it,  or  who'd  understand?" 


But  the  little  bare  feet  on  the  stairway, 
And  the  faint,  smothered  laugh  in  the  hall. 

And  the  eerie-low  lisp  on  the  silence, 
Cry  up  to  me  over  it  all. 


THE  SPHINX. 

T   KNOW  all  about  the  Sphinx - 
-^  I  know  oven  what  she  thinks. 
Staring  with  her  stony  eyes 
Up  forever  at  the  skies. 

For  last  night  I  dreamed  that  she 
Told  me  all  the  mystery — 
Why  for  ix3ons  mute  she  .sat:  — 
She  was  just  cut  out  for  that! 


IF  I  KNEW  WHAT  POETS  KNOW. 

TF  I  knew  what  poets  know, 
•1     Would  I  write  a  rhyme 
Of  the  buds  that  never  blow 

In  the  summer  time? 
Would  I  sing  of  golden  seeds 
Springing  up  in  irouweeds? 
And  of  raindrops  turned  to  snow, 
If  I  knew  what  poets  know? 

Did  I  know  what  poets  do, 

Would  I  sing  a  song 
Sadder  than  the  pigeon's  coo 

When  the  days  are  long? 
Where  I  found  a  heart  in  pain, 
I  would  make  it  glad  again ; 
And  the  false  should  be  the  true, 
Did  I  know  what  poets  do. 

34 


If  I  knew  what  poets  know, 

I  would  find  a  theme 
Sweeter  than  the  placid  flow 

Of  the  fairest  dream; 
I  would  sing  of  love  that  lives 
On  the  errors  it  forgives, 
And   the  world  would  better  grow 
If  I  knew  what  poets  know. 


16 


IKE  WALTON'S  PRAYER. 

T  CRAVE,  dear  Lord, 
-*-  No  boundless  hoard 
Of  gold  and  gear, 
Nor  jewels  fine, 
Nor  lands,  nor  kine, 
Nor  treasure-heaps  of  anything. — 
Let  but  a  little  hut  be  mine 
Where  at  the  hearthstone  I  may  heai 

The  cricket  sing, 
And  have  the  shine 
Of  one  glad  woman's  eyes  to  make, 
For  my  poor  sake, 

Our  simple  home  a  place  divine;  — 
Just  the  wee  cot  —  the  cricket's  chirr  — 
Love,  and  the  smiling  face  of  her. 


I  pray  not  for 
Great  riches,   nor 

For  vast  estates,  and  castle-halls, — 
Give  me  to  hear  the  hare  footfalls 
Of  children  o'er 
An  oaken  floor, 

New-rinsed  with  sunshine,  or  bespread 
With  but  the  tiny  coverlet 
And  pillow  for  the  baby's  head; 
And,  pray  Thou,  may 
The  door  stand  open  and  the  day 
Send  ever  in  a  gentle  breeze. 
With  fragrance  from  the  locust-trees, 

And  drowsy  moan  of  doves,  and  blur 
Of  robin-chirps,  and  drone  of  bees, 

With  afterhushcs  of  the  stir 
Of  intermingling  sounds,  and  then 

The  good-wife  and  the  smile  of  her 
Filling  the  silences  ae:ain — - 

»— - 

The  cricket's  call, 

And  the  wee  cot, 
Dear  Lord  of  all, 

Deny  me  not! 


I  pray  not  that 
Men  tremble  at 
My  power  of  place 

And  lordly  sway, — 
I  only  pray  for  simple  grace 
To  look  my  neighbor  iu  the  face 

Full  honestly  from  day  to  day  — 
Yield  me  his  horny  palm  to  hold, 
And  I'll  not  pray 

For  gold ;  — 

The  tanned  face,  garlanded  with  mirth, 
It  hath  the  kingliest  smile  on  earth  — 
The  swart  brow,  diamonded  with  sweat, 
Hath  never  need  of  coronet. 
And  so  I  reach, 

Dear  Lord,  to  Thee, 
And  do  beseech 

Thou  givest  me 

The  wee  cot,  and  the  cricket's  chirr, 
Love,  and  the  glad  sweet  face  of  her! 


SKETCH. 


T   CAUGHT,  for  a  second,  across  the  crowd  — 
•*-  Just  for  a  second,  and  barely  that  — 
A  face,  pox-pitted  and   evil-browed, 

Hid  in  the  shade  of  a  slouch-rirn'd  hat  — 
With  small,  gray  eyes,  of  a  look  as  keen 
As  the  long,  sharp  nose  that  grew  between. 

And  I  said:     Tis  a  sketch  of  Nature's  own, 

Drawn  i'  the  dark  o'  the  moon,   I  swear, 
On  a  tatter  of  Fate  that  the  winds  have  blown 
Hither  and  thither  and  everywhere  — 

With  its  keen  little  sinister  eyes  of  gray, 
And  iiose  like  the  beak  of  a  bird  of  prey! 


39 


OUR  KIND  OF  A  MAN. 

I. 

kind  of  a  man  for  you  and  me ! 
-••    He  faces  the  world  unflinchingly, 
And  smites,  as  long  as  the  wrong  resists, 
With  a  knuckled  faith  and  force  like  fists: 
He  lives  the  life  he  is  preaching  of, 
And  loves  where  most  is  the  need  of  love; 
His  voice  is  clear  to  the  deaf  man's  cars, 
And  his  face  sublime  through  the  blind  man's 

tears ; 

The  light  shines  out  where  the  clouds  were  dim, 
And  the  widow's  prayer  goes  up  for  him; 
The  latch  is  clicked  at  the  hovel  door, 
And  the  sick  man  sees  the  sun  once  more, 
And  out  o'er  the  barren  fields  he  sees 
Springing  blossoms  and  waving  trees, 
Feeling  as  only  the  dying  may, 
That  God's  own  servant  has  come  that  way, 

40 


Smoothing  the  path  as  it  still   winds  on 
Through  the  golden  gate  where  his  loved  have 
gone. 

ii. 

The  kind  of  a  man  for  me  and   you ! 
However  little  of  worth  we  do 
He  credits  full,  and  abides  in  trust 
That  time  will  teach  us  how  more  is  just. 
He  walks  abroad,  and  he  meets  all  kinds 
Of  querulous  and  uneasy  minds, 
And,  sympathizing,  he  shares  the  pain 
Of  the  doubts  that  rack  us,  heart  and  brain  ; 
And,   knowing  this,   as  we  grasp  his  hand, 
We  are  surely  coming  to  understand  ! 
He  looks  on  sin  with  pitying  eyes  — 
K'cn  a:s  the  Lord,  since  Paradise, — 
Klse,  should  we  read,   though  our  sins  should  glow 
As  scarlet,   they  shall  be  white  as  snow?  — 
And  feeling  still,   with  a  grief  half  glad, 
That  the  bad  are  as  good  as  the  good  arc  bad, 
He  strikes  straight  out  for  the  Right  —  and  he 
Is  the  kind  of  a  man  for  you  and  me ! 


THE  HARPER. 

T  IKE  a  drift  of  faded  blossoms 
*-*  Caught  in  a  slanting  rain, 
His  fingers  glimpsed  down  the  strings  of  his  harp 
In  a  tremulous  refrain. 

Patter,  and  tinkle,  and  drip,  and  drip! 

Ah!   but  the  chords  were  rainy  sweet! 
And  I  closed  my  eyes  and  I  bit  my  lip, 

As  he  played  there  in  the  street. 

Patter,  and  drip,  and  tinkle ! 

And  there  was  the  little  bed 
In  the  corner  of  the  garret, 

And  the  rafters  overhead ! 

And  there  was  the  little  window  — 

Tinkle,  and  drip,  and  drip!  — 
The  rain  above,  and  a  mother's  love, 

And  God's  companionship ! 

42 


OLD  AUNT  MARY'S. 

TT7ASXT  it   pleasant,  0  brother  miiie, 

'  '    In  those  old  days  of  the  lost  sunshine 
Of  youth  —  when  the  Saturday's  chores  were 

through, 

And  the  "Sunday's  wood"  in  the  kitchen,  too, 
And  we  went  visiting,   "me  and  you," 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's? 

It  all  comes  back  so  clear  to-day! 
Though   I  am  as  bald  as  you  are  gray  — 
Out  by  the  barn-lot,  and  down  the   lane, 
\Ve  patter  along  in  the  dust  again, 
As  light  as  the  tips  of  the  drops  of  the  rain, 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's! 


We  cross  the  pasture,  and  through  the  wood 
Where  the  old  gray  snag  of  the  poplar  stood, 
Where  the   hammering  "red-heads"  hopped  awry, 
And  the  buzzard  "raised"  in  the  "  clearing"- sky, 
And  lolled  and  circled,  as  we  went  by 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 

And  then  in  the  dust  of  the  road  again; 
And  the  teams  we  met,  and  the  countrymen ; 
And  the  long  highway,  with  sunshine  spread 
As  thick  as  butter  on  country  bread, 
Our  cares  behind,  and  our  hearts  ahead 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 

Why,  I  see  her  now  in  the  open  door, 
Where  the  little  gourds  grew  up  the  sides,  and  o'er 
The  clapboard  roof! — And  her  face  —  ah,  me! 
Wasn't  it  good  for  a  boy  to  see  — 
And  wasn't  it  good  for  a  boy  to  be 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's? 


ii 


And  O  my  brother,  so  far  away, 
This  is  to  tell  you  she  waits  to-day 
To  welcome  us: — Aunt  Mary  fell 
Asleep  this  morning,  whispering,  "Tell 
The  boys  to  come !  "     And  all  is  well 
Out  to  Old  Aunt  Mary's. 


ILLILEO. 

TLLILEO,  the  moonlight  seemed  lost  across  the 

vales  — 
The  stars  but  strewed  the  azure  as  au  armor's 

scattered  scales ; 
The  airs  of  night  Avere  quiet  as  the  breath  of 

silken  sails, 
And  all  your  words  were  sweeter  than  the  notes 

of  nightingales. 

Illileo  Legardi,  in  the  garden  there  alone, 

With  your  figure  carved  of  fervor,  as  the  Psyche 

carved  of  stone, 
There  came  to  me  no  murmur  of  the  fountain's 

undertone 
So  mystically,  musically  mellow  as  your  own. 


You  whispered  low,   Illileo —  so  low  the  leaves 

were  mute, 
And  the  echoes  i'altci'cd  breathless  in    your  voice's 

vain  pursuit.  ; 
And  there  died  the  distant  dalliance  of  the 

sereuader's  lute: 
And    I  held  you  in  my  bosom  as  the  husk  may 

hold  the  fruit. 

Iliileo,   I    listened.     I    believed   yon.      In   my  bliss, 
What  were  all  the  •worlds  above   me  since  I  found 

you  thus  in   this?  — 
Let  them  reeling  reach  to  win  me  —  even  Heaven 

I   would   miss, 
Grasping  earthward!  —  I  would  cling  here,  though 

I  clung  by  just  a  kiss. 

And   blossoms  should  grow  odorless — and   lilies  all 

aghast - 
iVnd   I  said   the  stars  should  slacken   in   their  paces 

through  the  vast, 


Ere  yet  my  loyalty  should  fail  enduring  to  the 

last.  — 
So  vowed  I.     It  is  written.     It  is  changeless  as 

the  past. 

Illileo  Legardi,  in  the  shade  your  palace  throws 
Like  a  cowl  about  the  singer  at  your  gilded 

porticos, 
A  moan  goes  with  the  music  that  may  vex  the 

high  repose 
Of  a  heart  that  fades  and  crumbles  as  the  crimson 

of  a  rose. 


THE  KING. 

rPIIPjY  rode  right  out  of  the  morning  sun  — 
•*-      A  glimmering,  glittering  cavalcade 
Of  knights  and  ladies,  and  every  one 

In  princely  sheen  arrayed; 
And  the  king  of  them  all,   O  he  rode  ahead, 
With  a  helmet  of  gold,  and  a  plume  of  red 
That  spurted  about  in  the  breeze  and  bled 

In  the  bloom  of  the  everglade. 

And  they  rode  high  over  the  dewy  lawn, 
With  brave,  glad  banners  of  every  hue, 
That  rolled  in  ripples,  as  they  rode  on 

In  splendor,   two  and  two; 
And  the  tinkling  links  of  the  golden  reins 
Of  the  steeds  they  rode  rang  such  refrains 
As  the  castanets  in  a  dream  of  Spain's 
Intcnsest  gold  and  blue. 


And  they  rode  and  rode ;  and  the  steeds  they 

ueighed 

And  pranced,  and  the  sun  on  their  glossy  hides 
Flickered  and  lightened  and  glanced  and  played 

Like  the  moon  on  rippling  tides ; 
And  their  manes  were  silken,  and  thick  and  strong, 
And  their  tails  were  flossy,  and  fetlock-long, 
And  jostled  in  time  to  the  teeming  throng, 
And  their  knightly  song  besides. 

Clank  of  scabbard  and  jingle  of  spur, 

And  the  fluttering  sash  of  the  queen  went  wild 
In  the  wind,  and  the  proud  king  glanced  at  her 

As  one  at  a  wilful  child, — 
And  as  knight  and  lady  away  they  flew, 
And  the  banners  flapped,  and  the  falcon,  too, 
And  the  lances  flashed  and  the  bugle  blew, 

He  kissed  his  hand  and  smiled. — 

And  then,  like  a  slanting  sunlit  shower, 
The  pageant  glittered  across  the  plain, 
And  the  turf  spun  back,  and  the  wild  weed  flower 
Was  only  a  crimson  stain. 

50 


And  a  dreamer's  eyes  they  are  downward  cast, 
As  he  blends  these  words  with  the  wailing  blast 
"It   is  the  King  of  the  Year  rides  past!" 


And  Autumn  is  here  aga 


•  ! 


A  BRIDE. 

"f\  I  AM  weary!"  she  sighed,  as  her  billowy 

^     Hair  she  unloosed  in  a  torrent  of  gold 
That  rippled  and  fell  o'er  a  figure  as  willowy, 

Graceful  and  fair  as  a  goddess  of  old : 
Over  her  jewels  she  flung  herself  drearily, 

Crumpled  the  laces  that  snowed  on  her  breast, 
Crushed  with  her  fingers  the  lily  that  wearily 
Clung  in  her  hair  like  a  dove  in  its  nest. 

— And  naught  but  her  shadowy  form  in  the 

mirror 

To  kneel  in  dumb  agony  down  and  weep 
near  her! 

"Weary?"— of  what?     Could  we  fathom  the  mys 
tery  ?  — 
Lift  up  the  lashes  weighed  down  by  her  tears, 

And  wash  with  their  dews  one  white  face  from  her 
history, 

52 


Set  like  a  gem  in  the  red  rust  of  years  ? 
Nothing  will  rest  her — unless  he  who  died  of  her 

Strayed  from  his  grave,  and,  in  place  of  the  groom, 

Tipping  her  face,  kneeling  there  by  the  side  of  her, 

Drained  the   old  kiss  to  the  dregs  of  his  doom. 

—And  naught  but  that  shadowy  form  in  the 

mirror 

To  kneel  in  dumb  agony  down  and  weep 
near  her ! 


58 


THE  DEAD  LOVER. 


is  so  long  when  a  man  is  dead  ! 
-*•      Some  one  sews;    and  the  room  is  made 
Very  clean  ;    and  the  light  is  shed 
Soft  throuh  the  window-shade. 


Yesterday  I  thought:    "I  know 

Just  how  the  bells  will  sound,  and  how 

The  friends  will  talk,  and  the  sermon  go, 
And  the  hearse-horse  bow  and  bow  !  " 

This  is  to-day;    and  I  have  no  thing 
To  think  of  —  nothing  whatever  to  do 

But  to  hear  the  throb  of  the  pulse  of  a  wing 
That  wants  to  fly  back  to  you. 


A  SONG. 

rPIIERE  is  CVCY  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear; 
•*-      There  i.s  ever  a  something  sings  alway: 
There's  the  song  of  the  lark  when  the  skies  arc  clear, 

And  the  song  of  the  thrush  when  the  skies  arc  gray. 
The  sunshine  showers  across  the  grain, 

And  the  bluebird  trills  in  the  orchard  tree; 
And  in  and  out,  when  the  eaves  drip  rain, 

The  swallows  are  twittering  ceaselessly. 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 

Be  the  skies  above  or  dark  or  fair, 
There  is  ever  a  song  that  our   hearts  may  hear  — 
There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear  — 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere ! 


There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear, 

In  the  midnight  black,  or  the  mid-day  blue; 
The  robin  pipes  when  the  sun  is  here, 

And  the  cricket  chirrups  the  whole  night  through. 
The  buds  may  blow  and  the  fruit  may  grow, 

And  the  autumn  leaves  drop  crisp  and  sere; 
But  whether  the  sun,  or  the  rain,  or  the  snow, 

There  is  ever  a  song  somewhere,  my  dear. 


WHEN  REKKTE  DIED. 

If  from  your  own  the  dimpled  hands  had  slipped, 

And  ne'er  would  nestle  in  your  palm  again; 
If  the  white  feel  into  the  grave  had  tripped  — 

1T7IIEN  Bessie  died— 

'  '      \\re  braided   the  brown  hair,  and  tied 
It  just  as  her  own   little  hands 
Had   fastened  back  the  silken  strands 
A  thousand   times — the  crimson  bit 
Of  ribbon  woven   into  it 
That  she  had   worn   with   childish  pride  — 
Smoothed  down  the  dainty  bow  —  and  cried 
When  Bessie  died. 

When  Bessie  died  — 
We  drew  the  nursery  blinds  aside, 
And,  as  the  morning   in  the  room 
Burst  like  a  primrose  into  bloom, 

57 


Her  pet  canary's  cage  we  hung 
Where  she  might  hear  him  when  he  sung 
And  yet  not  any  note  he  tried, 
Though  she  lay  listening  folded-eyed. 

"When  Bessie  died  — 

We  writhed  in  prayer  unsatisfied; 

We  begged  of  God,  and  He  did  smile 

In  silence  on  us  all  the  while; 

And  we  did  see  Him,  through  our  tears, 

Enfolding  that  fair  form  of  hers, 

She  laughing  back  against  His  love 

The  kisses  we  had  nothing  of— 

And  death  to  us  he  still  denied, 

When  Bessie  died  — 

When  Bessie  died. 


58 


THE  SHOWER. 

rPHE  landscape,  like  the  awed  face  of  a  child, 
*-      Grew  curiously  blurred ;    a  hush  of  death 
Fell  on  the  fields,  and  iu  the  darkened  wild 
The  zephyr  held  its  breath. 

No  wavering  glamour-work  of  light  and  shade 
Dappled  the  shivering  surface  of  the  brook  ; 

The  frightened  ripples  in  their  ambuscade 
Of  willows  thrilled  and  shook. 

The   sullen  day  grew  darker,  and  anon 
Dim  flashes  of  pent  anger  lit  the  sky; 

With  rumbling  wheels  of  wrath  came  rolling  on 
The  storm's  artillery. 


The  cloud  above  put  on  its  blackest  frown, 
And  then,  as  with  a  vengeful  cry  of  pain, 

The  lightning  snatched  it,  ripped  and  flung  it  down 
In  raveled  shreds  of  rain : 

While  I,  transfigured  by  some  wondrous  art, 
Bowed  with  the  thirsty  lilies  to  the  sod, 

My  empty  soul  brimmed  over,  and  my  heart 
Drenched  with  the  love  of  God. 


60 


A  LIFE-LESSON. 


^PHERE!    little  girl;    don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  doll,  I  know; 
And  your  tea-set  blue, 
And  your  play-house,  too, 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  childish  troubles  will  soon  pass  by. 
There  !    little  girl ;    don't  cry  ! 


There!    little  girl;    don't  cry! 

They  have  broken  your  slate,  I  know ; 
And  the  glad,  Avild  ways 
Of  your  school-girl  days 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago; 

But  life  and  love  will  soon  come  by.- 
There  !    little  girl ;    don't  cry  ! 


61 


There !    little  girl ;   don't  cry ! 

They  have  broken  your  heart,  I  know ; 
And  the  rainbow  gleams 
Of  your  youthful  dreams 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago ; 

But  heaven  holds  all  for  which  you 

sigh.— 
There  !    little  girl ;    don't  cry ! 


82 


A  SCRA  WL. 

T   WANT  to  sing  something  —  but  this  is  all  — 
-*-       I  try  and  I  try,  but  the  rhymes  arc  dull, 
As  though  they  were  damp,  aud  the  echoes  fall 
Limp  and  unlovable. 

Words  will  not  say  what  I  yearn  to  say  — 
They  will  not  walk  as  I  want  them  to ; 
But  they  stumble  and  fall  in  the  path  of  the  way 
Of  my  telling  my  love  for  you. 

Simply  take  what  the  scrawl  is  worth  — 

Knowing  I  love  you  as  sun  the  sod 
On  the  ripening  side  of  the  great  round  earth 
That  swings  in  the  smile  of  God. 


63 


AWAY. 

I  CAN  NOT  say,  and  I  will  not  say 
That  lie  is  dead. —  He  is  just  away! 

With  a  cheery  smile,  and  a  wave  of  the  hand, 
He  has  wandered  into  an  unknown  land, 

And  left  us  dreaming   how  very  fair 
It  needs  must  be,  since  he  lingers  there. 

And  you  —  O  you,  who  the  wildest  yearn 
For  the  old-time  step  and  the  glad  return, — 

Think  of  him  faring  on,  as  dear 

In  the  love  of  There  as  the  love  of  Here ; 

And  loyal  still,  as  he  gave  the  blows 

Of  his  warrior-strength  to  his  country's  foes. — 


C4 


Mild  and  gentle,  as  he  was  brave, — 
When  the  sweetest  love  of  his  life  he  gave 

To  simple  things: — Where  the  violets  grew 
Pure  as  the  eyes  they  were  likened   to, 

The  touches  of  his  hands  have  strayed 
As  reverently  as  his  lips  have  prayed: 

When  the  little  brown  thrush  that  harshly  chirred 
Was  dear  to  him  as  the  mocking-bird ; 

And  he  pitied  as  much  as  a  man  in  pain 
A  writhing  honey-bee  wet  with  rain. — 

Think  of  him  still  as  the  same,  I  say: 
He  is  not  dead  —  he  is  just  away! 


WHO  BIDES  HIS  TIME. 

WHO  bides  his  time,  and  day  by  day 
Faces  defeat  full  patiently, 
And  lifts  a  mirthful  roundelay, 

However  poor  his  fortunes  be, — 
He  will  not  fail  in  any  qualm 

Of  poverty  —  the  paltry  dime 
It  will  grow  golden  in  his  palm, 
Who  bides  his  time. 

Who  bides  his  time — he  tastes  the  sweet 
Of  honey  in  the  saltest  tear ; 

And  though  he  fares  with  slowest  feet, 
Joy  runs  to  meet  him,  drawing  near; 

The  birds  are  heralds  of  his  cause, 
And  like  a  never-ending  rhyme, 

The  roadsides  bloom  in  his  applause, 
Who  bides  his  time. 


66 


Who  bides  his  time,  and  fevers  riot 
In  the  hot  race  that  none  achieves, 

Shall  wear  cool-wreathen  laurel,  wrought 
With  crimson  berries  in  the  leaves; 

And  he  shall  reigu  a  goodly  king, 
And  sway  his  hand  o'er  every  clime, 

Vith  peace  writ  on   his  signet  ring, 
Who  bides  his  time. 


67 


FROM  THE  HEADBOARD  OF  A  GRA  YE  IN 
PARAGUAY. 


A  TROTH,  and  a  grief,  aud  a  blessing, 
Disguised  them  and  canie  this  way, — 
And  one  was  a  promise,  and  one  was  a  doubt, 
And  one  was  a  rainy  day. 

And  they  met  betimes  with  this  maiden, — 
And  the  promise  it  spake  and  lied, 

And  the  doubt  it  gibbered  and  hugged  itself, 
And  the  rainy  day  —  she  died. 


f,S 


LA  TIGHTER  HOLDING  BOTH  HIS  SIDES. 

AYE,  tliou  vurlet!     Laugh  away! 
All  the  world's  n  holiday! 
Laugh  away,   and   roar  and   shout 
Till  thy  hoar.se  tongue  lolleth  out! 
Bloat  thy  cheeks,  ami  bulge  thine  eyes 
Unto  bursting,  pelt  thy  thighs 
With  thy  swollen  palms,  and  roar 
As  thou  never  hast  before! 
Lustier!   wilt   thou!   peal   on  peal! 
Stiflest?     Squat  and  grind  thy  heel  - 
Wrestle  with  thy  loins,  and  then 
Wheeze  thee   whiles,  and   whoop  again  ! 


69 


SONNETS 


PAN. 

'PHIS  PAN  is  l)u t    an   idle  god,  I  guess, 
•*-     Since  all  the  fair  midsummer  of  my  dreams 

lie  loiters,  listlessly  by  woody  streams, 
Soaking  the  lush  glooms  up  with  laziness; 
Or  drowsing  while  the  maiden-winds  caress 

Him  prankishly,  and  powder  him  with 
gleams 

Of  sifted  sunshine.     And  he  ever  seems 
Drugged  with  a  joy  unutterable  —  unless 

His  low  pipes  whistle  hints  of  it  far  out 
Across  the  ripples  to  the  dragonfly 

That,  like  a  wind-born  blossom  blown  about, 
Drops  quiveringly  down,  as  though  to  die  — 

Then  lifts  and  wavers  on,  as  if  in  doubt 

Whether  to  fan  his  wings  or  fly  without. 


DUSK. 

frightened  herds  of  clouds  across  the  sky 
-*•     Trample  the  sunshine  down,  and  chase  the  day 

Into  the  dusky  forest-lauds  of  gray 
And  sombre  twilight.     Far,  and  faiut,  and  high, 
The  wild  goose  trails  his  harrow,  with  a  cry 

Sad  as  the  wail  of  some  poor  castaway 

Who  sees  a  vessel  drifting  far  astray 
Of  his  last  hope,  and  lays  him  down  to  die. 
The  children,  riotous  from  school,  grow  hold, 

And  quarrel  with  the  wind  whose  angry  gust 
Plucks  off  the  summer-hat,  and  flaps  the  fold 

Of  many  a  crimson  cloak,  and  twirls  the  dust 
In  spiral  shapes  grotesque,  and  dims  the  gold 

Of  gleaming  tresses  with  the  blur  of  rust. 


71' 


JUNE. 

i~\  QUEENLY  month  of  indolent  repose! 

"     I  drink  thy  breath  in  sips  of  rare  perfume, 

As  in  thy  downy  lap  of  clover-bloom 
1  nestle  like  a  drowsy  child,  and  doze 
The  lazy  hours  away.     The  zephyr  throws 
The  shifting  shuttle  of  the  summer's  loom, 
And  weaves  a  damask-work  of  gleam  and 

gloom 

Before  thy  listless  feet:     The  lily  blows 
A  bugle-call  of  fragrance  o'er  the  glade ; 
And,  wheeling  into  ranks,  with  plume  and 

spear, 
Thy  harvest-armies  gather  on  parade  ; 

While,  faint  and  far  away,  yet  pure  and 

clear, 

A  voice  calls  out  of  alien  lands  of  shade, — 
"All  hail  the  Peerless  Goddess  of  the  Year!" 


SILENCE. 

'THOUSANDS  and  thousands  of  hushed  years 
ago, 

Out  on  the  edge  of  Chaos,  all  alone 

I  stood  on  peaks  of  vapor,  high  upthrown 
Above  a  sea  that  knew  nor  ebb  nor  flow, 
Nor  any  motion  won  of  winds  that  blow, 

Nor  any  sound  of  watery  wail  or  moan, 

Nor  lisp  of  wave,  nor  wandering  undertone 
Of  any  tide  lost  in  the  night  below. 
So  still  it  was,  I  mind  me,  as  I  laid 

My  thirsty  ear  against  mine  own  faint  sigh 
To  drink  of  that,  I  sipped  it,  half  afraid 

'Twas  but  the  ghost  of  a  dead  voice  spilled  by 
The  one  starved  star  that  tottered  through  the 
shade, 

And  came  tiptoeing  toward  me  down  the  sky. 


TIME. 


'THE  TICKING  — ticking— ticking  of  the  clock! 
*•    Tli lit  vexed  me  so  last  niirht! —  "For  though 

o  O 

Time  keeps 

Such  drowsy  watch,"  I  moaned,  "he  never 

sleeps, 

But  only  nods  above  the  world  to  mock 
Its  restless  occupant,  then  rudely  rock 

It  as  the  cradle  of  a  babe  that  weeps ! " 

I  seemed  to  see  the  seconds  piled  in   heaps 
Like  sand  about  me  ;   and  at  every  shock 
Of  the  harsh   bell,   tolling  a  new  hour's  birth, 

The  sandy  pyramids  were  swirled  away 
As  by  a  desert-storm  that  swept  the  earth 

Stark  as  a  granary  floor,  whereon  the  gray 
And   mist-bedri///led   moon   amidst  the  dearth 

Came  crawling,  like  a  sickly  child,   to   lay 

Its  pale  face  next  mine  own  and   weep  for  day. 


TIME. 

II. 

Wait  for  the  morning !     Ah !  we  wait  indeed 
For  daylight,  we  who  toss  about  through  stress 
Of  vacant-armed  desires  aud  emptiness 
Of  all  the  warm,  warm  touches  that  we  need, 
And  the  warm  kisses  upon  which  we  feed 
Our  famished  lips  in  fancy  !     May  God  bless 
The  starved  lips  of  us  with  but  one  caress 
Warm  as  the  yearning  blood  our  poor  hearts 

bleed ! 
.  .  .  .  A  wild  prayer! — bite  thy  pillow,  praying 

so  — 
Toss  this  side,  and  whirl  that,  and  moan  for 

dawn; 

Let  the  clock's  seconds  dribble  out  their  woe, 
And  Time  be  drained  of  sorrow !     Long  ago 
We  heard  the  crowing  cock,  with  answer 
drawn, 

As  hoarsely  sad  at  throat  as  sobs Pray 

on! 


78 


SLEEP. 

T^HOU  drowsy  god,  whose  blurred  eyes,  half 
uwink, 

Muse  on  me, —  drifting  out  upon  thy  dream?, 

I  lave  my  soul  as  in  enchanted  streams, 
Where  reveling  satyrs  pipe  along  the  brink, 
And,  tipsy  with  the  melody  they  drink, 

Uplift  their  dangling  hooves  and  down  the 
beams 

Of  sunshine  dance  like  motes.     Thy  languor 

seems 
An  ocean-depth  of  love  wherein  I  sink 

Like  some  fond  Argonaut,  right  willingly, — 
Because  of  wooing  eyes  upturned  to  mine, 

And  siren-arms  that  coil   their  sorcery 
About  my  neck,  with  kisses  so  divine, 

The  heavens  reel  above  me,  and  the  sea 

Swallows  and  licks  its  wet  lips  over  me. 


HER  HAIR. 

'"PHE- beauty  of  her  hair  bewilders  me  — 
*•     Pouring  adown  the  brow,  its  cloven  tide 

Swirling  about  the  ears  on  either  side, 
And  storming  round  the  neck  tumultuously : 
Or  like  the  lights  of  old  antiquity 

Through  raullioued  windows,  in  cathedrals 
wide, 

Spilled  molteuly  o'er  figures  deified 
In  chastest  marble,  nude  of  drapery. 
And  so  I  love  it. —  Either  uncoufiued  ; 

Or  plaited  in  close  braidings  manifold; 
Or  smoothly  drawn ;  or  indolently  twined 

In  careless  knots  Avhose  coiliugs  come 

unrolled 

At  any  lightest  kiss;   or  by  the  wind 
"Whipped  out  in  flossy  raveliugs  of  gold. 


80 


DEARTH. 

HOLD  your  trembling  hand  to-night  —  and  yet 
•*•     I  may  not  know  what  wealth  of  bliss  is  mine, 

My  heart  is  such  a  curious  design 
Of  trust  and  jealousy!     Your  eyes  are  wet  — 
So  must  I  think  they  jewel  some  regret, — 

And  lo,   the  loving  arms  that  round  me  twine 
Cling  only  as  the  tendrils  of  a  vine 
Whose  fruit  has  long  been  gathered :     I  forget, 
\Vhilc  crimson  clusters  of  your  kisses  press 

Their  wine  out  on  my  lips,  my  royal  fare 
Of  rapture,  since  blind  fancy  needs  must  guess 
They  once  poured  out  their  sweetness 

otherwhere, 
With  fuller  flavoring  of  happiness 

Then  e'en  your  broken  sobs  may  now  declare. 


A   VOICE  FROM  THE  FARM. 

TT  is  my  dream  to  have  you  here  with  me, 
-*•    Out  of  the  heated  city's  dust  and  din  — 

Here  where  the  colts  have  room  to  gambol  in, 
And  kine  to  graze,  in  clover  to  the  knee. 
I  want  to  see  your  wan  face  happily 

Lit  with  the  wholesome  smiles  that  have  not 

been 

In  use  since  the  old  games  you  used  to  win 
When  we  pitched  horseshoes :     And  I  want  to  be 
At  utter  loaf  with  you  in  this  dim  land 
Of  grove  and  meadow,  while  the  crickets 

make 

Our  own  talk  tedious,  and  the  bat  wields 
His  bulky  flight,  as  we  cease  converse,  and 
In  a  dusk  like  velvet  smoothly  take 
Our  way  toward  home  across  the  dewy 
fields. 


WHEN  SHE  COMES  HOME. 

"JT7HEN  she  comes  home  again  !     A  thousand 
ways 

I  fashion,  to  myself,  the  tenderness 

Of  my  glad  welcome:     I  shall  tremble  —  yes; 
And  touch  her,   as  when  first  in  the  old  days 
I  touched  her  girlish  hand,   nor  dared  upraise 

Mine  eyes,  such  was  my  faint  heart's  sweet 
distress. 

Then  silence :     And  the  perfume  of  her  dress : 
The  room   will  sway  a  little,  and  a  haxe 

Cloy  eyesight  —  soulsight,   even — 'for  a  .space: 
And  tears  —  yes;  and  the  ache  here  in  the  throat, 

To  know  that   I  so   ill  deserye  the  place 
Her  arms  make   for  me;   and   the  sobbing  note 

I  stay   with  kisses,   ere  the  tearful   face 

Ajniin  is  hidden  in   the  old  embrace. 


ART  AND  LOVE. 

TIE  faced  his  canvas  (as  a  seer  whose  ken 
-*-  -*-  Pierces  the  crust  of  this  existence  through) 

And  smiled  beyond  on  that  his  genius  knew 
Ere  mated  with  his  being.      Conscious  then 
Of  his  high  theme  alone,  he  smiled  again 
Straight  back  upon  himself  in  many  a  hue, 
And  tint,  and  light,  and  shade,  which  slowly 

grew 
Enfeatured  of  a  fair  girl's  face,  as  when 

First  time  she  smiles  for  love  sake  with  no 

fear. 

So  wrought  he,  witless  that  behind  him  leant 
A  woman,  with  old  features,  dim  and  sere, 
And  glamoured  eyes  that  felt  the  brimming 

tear, 

And  with  a  voice,  like  some  sad  instrument, 
That  sighing  said,  "I'm  dead  there;   love  me 
here  I" 

84 


IN  DIALECT 


GRIG  GSB  Y'S  STA  TION. 

T)AP'S  got  his  patent-right,  and  rich  as  all 

creation  ; 
But  whcre's  the  peace  and  comfort  that  we  all 

had  before  ? 

"Le's  go  a-visitiii'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station  — 
Back  where  we  u.st  to  be  so  happy  and  so  pore! 

The  likes  of  us  a-livin'  here  !     It's  jest  a  mortal 


To  sec  us  in  this  great  big  house,  with  cyarpets 

on  the  stairs, 
And  the  pump  right  in  the  kitchen  !     And  the 

city  !  city  !  city  !  — 

And  nothin'  but  the  city  all  ai'ouud  us 
ever'wheres  ! 


Climb  clean  above  the  roof  and  look  from  the 

steeple, 
And  never  see  a  robin,  nor  a  beech  or  ellum 

tree! 
And  right  here  in  ear-shot  of  at  least  a  thousan' 

people, 

And  none  that  neighbors  with  us,  or  we  want 
to  go  and  see ! 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station  — 
Back  where  the  latch-string's  a-hangiu'  from  the 

door, 
And  ever'  neighbor  'round  the  place  is  dear  as  a 

relation  — 

Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so 
pore! 

I  want  to  see  the  Wiggenses,  the  whole  kit  and 

bilin', 
A  drivin'  up  from  Shallor  Ford  to  stay  the 

Sunday  through  ; 
And  I  want  to  see  'em  hitchiu'  at  their 

son-in-law's  and  piliii' 
Out  there  at  'Lizy  Ellen's  like  they  ust  to  do! 


I  want  to  see  the  piece-quilts  the  Jones  girls  is 

makiii' ; 
And  I  want  to  pester  Laury  'bout  their 

freckled  hired  hand, 
Aud  joke  her  'bout  the  widower  she  conic  part' 

nigh  a-takiu', 

Till  her  pap  got  his  pension  'lowed  iu  time  to 
save  his  land. 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station  — 

Back  where  they's  nothin'  aggervatiu'  anymore, 
Shet  away  safe  in  the  woods  around  the  old 

location  — 

Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so 
pore ! 

I  want  to  see  Marindy  and  he'p  her  with  her 

sewin', 
And  hear  her  talk  so  lovin'  of  her  man  that's 

dead  and  gone, 
And  stand  up  with  Emanuel  to  show  me  how 

he's  grow  in', 

And  smile  as  I  have  saw  her  'fore  she  put  her 
mouruin'  on. 


And  I  want  to  see  the  Samples,  on  the  old  lower 

eighty  — 
Where  John  our  oldest  boy,  he  was  tuk  and 

hurried  —  for 
His  own  sake  and  Katy's, —  and  I  want  to  cry 

with  Katy 

As  she  reads  all  his  letters  over,  writ  from  The 
War. 

What's  in  all  this  grand  life  and  high  situation, 
And  nary  a  pink  nor  hollyhawk  bloomiu'  at 

the  door? — 

Le's  go  a-visitin'  back  to  Griggsby's  Station  — 
Back  where  we  ust  to  be  so  happy  and  so 
pore! 


KNEE-DEEP  IN  JUNE. 


^TELL  you  what  I  like  the  best  — 
*   'Long  about  knee-deep  in  June. 
'Bout  the  time  strawberries  melts 
On   the  vine,  —  some  afternoon 
Like  to  jes'  git  out  and  rest, 

And  not  work  at  iiothm'  else! 

n. 

Orchard's  where  I'd  ruther  be  — 
Needn't  fence  it  in  fer  me!  — 
Jes'  the  whole  sky  overhead, 

And  the  whole  airth   underneath  - 
Sorto'  so's  a  man  kin  breathe 
Like  he  ort,  and  kiudo'  has 
Elbow-room  to  keerlessly 

Sprawl  out  len'thways  on  the  grass 


Where  the  shadders  thick  and  soft 
As  the  lowers  on  the  bed 
Mother  fixes  in  the  loft 
Allus,  when  they's  company! 

in. 

Jes'  a  sorto'  lazein'  there  — 
S'lazy,  'at  you  peek  and  peer 
Through  the  wavin'  leaves  above, 
Like  a  feller  'ats  in  love 
And  don't  know  it,  uer  don't  keer! 
Ever'thiug  you  hear  and  see 
Got  some  sort  o'  interest  — 
Maybe  find  a  bluebird's  nest 
Tucked  up  there  couveeneutly 
Fer  the  boys  'ats  apt  to  be 
Up  some  other  apple-tree! 
Watch  the  swallers  skootiii'  past 
'Bout  as  peert  as  you  could  ast ; 
Er  the  Bobwhite  raise  and  whiz 
Where  some  other's  whistle  is. 


92 


IV. 

Ketch  a  shudder  down  below, 
And  look  up  to  find  the  crow; 
Er  a  hawk  away  up  there, 
Tearantly  froze  in   the  air!  — 

Hear  the  old  hen  squawk,  aud  squat 

Over  every  chick  she's  got, 
Suddent-like ! —  Aud  she  knows  where 

That-air  hawk  is,  well  as  you  !  - 

You  jes'  bet  yer  life  she  do!- 
Eyos  a-glitteriu'  like  glass, 
\Vaitin'  till  he  makes  a  pass ! 

v. 

Pec-wees'  singin',  to  express 

My  opinion's  second  class, 
Yit  you'll   hear  'em  more  er  less; 

Sapsucks  gittin'  down  to  hi/., 
Weediii'  out  the  loucsomeness ; 

Mr.  Bluejay,  full  o'  sass, 

In  them  base-ball  clothes  o'  his, 
Sportiu'  'round  the  orchard  jes' 


93 


Like  he  owned  the  premises ! 

Sun  out  in  the  fields  kin  sizz, 
But  flat  on  yer  back,  I  guess, 
In  the  shade's  where  glory  is! 
That's  jes'  what  I'd  like  to  do 
Stiddy  fer  a  year  er  two ! 

VI. 

Plague !  ef  they  aint  sompiu'  in 

Work  'at  kiudo'  goes  ag'iu 

My  convictions !  — 'long  about 

Here  in  June  especially !  — 

Under  some  old  apple  tree, 

Jes'  a-restiu'  through  and  through, 
I  could  git  along  without 
Nothiu'  else  at  all  to  do 
Only  jes'  a-wishiu'  you 
Was  a-gittin'  there  like  me, 
And  June  was  eternity ! 

VII. 

Lay  out  there  and  try  to  see 
Jes'  how  lazy  you  kin  be !  — 

94 


Tumble  round  and  souse   ver    head 
In  the  clover-bloom,  er  pull 

Yer  straw  hat  acrost  yer  eyes, 
And  peek  through  it  at  the  skies, 
Thinkin'  of  old  chums  'ats  dead, 
Maybe,  smiliu'  back  at  you 
In  betwixt  the  beautiful 

Clouds  o'  gold  and  white  and 

bluc!- 

Montli  a  man  kin  railly  love  — 
June,  you  know,  I'm  talkin'  of! 

VIII. 

March  aint  never  nothin'  new ! — 
Aprile's  altogether  too 
Brash  for  me!  and  May  —  I  jes' 
'Bominate  its  promises, — 

Little  hints  o'  sunshine  and 
Green  around  the  timber-land  — 
A  few  blossoms,  and  a  few 
Chip-birds,  and  a  sprout  er  two  — 
Drap  asleep,  and  it  turns  in 
'Fore  daylight  and  snows  agin! — 


But  when  June  comes —  Clear  my  throat 

With  wild  honey!     Reiich  my  hair 
In  the  dew!  and  hold  my  coat! 

Whoop  out  loud !  and  throw  my  hat ! 
June  wants  me,  and  I'm  to  spare! 
Spread  them  shadders  anywhere, 
I'll  git  down  and  waller  there, 
And  obleeged  to  you  at  that! 


»6 


WHEN  THE  IJEMISE  COMEb  BACK. 

,\    THING  'at'.s  'bout  as  tryin'  as  a  healthy  mu:i 
-  *        kin  meet 
Is  some  poor  feller's  funeral  a-joggin'  'long  the 

street : 
The  slow  hearse  and  the  hoss.es.  —  slow  enough,   to 

say  the  least, 
Fer  to  even  tax  the  patience  of  the  gentleman 

deceased  ! 
The  slow  scrunch  of  the  gravel — and  the  slow 

grind  of  the  wheels, — 
The  slow,   slow  go  of  ev'ry  woe  'at  ev'rybody 

feels ! 
So  I  rather  like  the  contrast  when  I  hear  the 

whiplash  crack 
A   quickstep  fer  the  hosses, 
When  the 

Hearse 

Conies 

Back  ! 


Meet  it  goin'  to'rds  the  cemet'ry,  you'll  want  to 

drap  yer  eyes — 
But  ef  the  plumes  don't  fetch  you,  it'll  ketch  you 

otherwise — 
You'll  haf  to  see  the  caskit,  though  you'd  ort  to 

look  away, 
And  'conomize  and  save  yer  sighs  for  any  other 

day! 
Yer  sympathiziu'  won't  wake  up  the  sleeper  from 

his  rest — 
Yer  tears  won't  thaw  them  hands  o'  his  'at's  froze 

acrost  his  breast! 
And  this  is  why — when  airth  and  sky's  a-jrittin' 

blurred  and  black  — 
I  like  the  flash  and  hurry 

When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back! 

It's  not  'cause  I  don't  'preciate  it  aint  no  time 

fer  jokes, 
Ner  'cause  I'  got  no  common  human  feelin's  fer 

the  folks ;  — 


I've  wont  to  funerals  myse'f,  and  took  on  sonic, 

perhaps, 
Fer  my  heart's  'bout  as  mall'able  as  any  other 

chap's, — 
I've  buried  father,  mother  —  but  I'll  haf  to  jes' 

git  you 
To  "excuse  me,"  as  the  feller  says.  —  The  p'int 

I'm  drivin'  to 
Is,   simply,   when   we're  plum'  broke  down  and  all 

knocked  out  a' whack, 
It  he'ps  to  shape  us  up,  like, 

When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back ! 

The  idy !  wadin'  round  here  over  shoe-mouth  deep 

in   woe, 
When  they's  a  graded  'pike  o'  joy  and  sunshine, 

don't  you  know! 
When  evcnin'  strikes  the  pastur',  cows']  1   pull  out 

fer  the  bars, 
And  skittisli-likc  from  out  the  night'll  prance  the 

happy  stars. 


And  so  when  my  time  comes  to  die,  and  I've  got 

ary  friend 
'At  wants  expressed  my  last  request  —  I'll,  mebby, 

rickommend 
To  drive  slow,  ef  they  haf  to,  goin'  'long  the 

out'ard  track, 

But  I'll  smile  and  say,  "  You  speed  'em 
When  the 

Hearse 

Comes 

Back ! }> 


100 


A  CANARY  AT  THE  FARM. 

T^OLKS  lias  lien  to  town  and  Sahry 
1  Fetched  'er  home  a  pot  canary, — 
And  of  all  the  blame',  contrary, 

Aggcrvatin'  things  alive! 
I  love  music  —  that's  I  love  it 
When  its  free  —  and  plenty  of  it;  — 
But   I  kindo'  git  above  it, 

At  a  dollar-eighty-five! 

Reason's  plain  as  I'm  a-sayin', — 
Jes'  the  idy,  now,  o'  layin' 
Out  yer  money,  and  a-payin' 

Fer  a  wilier-cage  and  bird, 
When  the  medder-larks  is  wingin' 
Round  you,  and    the  woods  is  ringin' 
With  the  beaut i fullest  singin' 

That  a  mortal  ever  heard  ! 


101 


Salary's  sot,  tho', — so  I  tell  her 

He's  a  purty  little  feller, 

With  his  wings  o'  creamy-yeller, 

And  his  eyes  keen  as  a  cat; 
And  the  twitter  o'  the  critter 
'Pears  to  absolutely  glitter! 
Guess  I'll  haf  to  go  and  git  her 

A  high-priceter  cage  'n  that! 


102 


A  UZ-T<)\VX  HUMORIST. 

PETTIN'  round    the  stove,  last  night, 
^  Down  at  Wess's  store,  was  me 
And  Mart  Strimples,  Tank,  and  White, 
And  Doc  Bills,  and  two  er  three 
Fellers  of  the  Mudsock  tribe 
Xo  use  try  in'  to  describe! 
And  says   Dor,  he  says,  says  he, — 
"Talkin'  'bout  good  things  to  eat, 
Kipe  inushinillon's  hard  to  beat!" 

I  chawed  on.      And   Mart  he  'lowed 
Wortermillon  beat  the  mush. — 

"  lied,"  he  says,   "and  juicy  —  Hush!  — 
I'll  jes'  leave  it  to  the  crowd!" 
Then  a  Mudsock  chap,   says  he, — 

"  Finikin 's  good  enough   f'er  me  — 
Finikin  pies,   I   mean,"  he  says, — 

"Them  beats  millons!     What  say,   Wess?" 


I  chawed  on.     And  Wess  says, — "  Well, 

You  jes'  fetch  that  wife  of  mine 

All  yer  wortermillou-rwie, 

And  she'll  bile  it  down  a  spell  — 

In  with  sorguin,  I  suppose, 

And  what  else,  Lord  only  knows !  — 

But  I'm  here  to  tell  all  hands, 

Them  p'serves  meets  my  demands!" 

I  chawed  on.     And  White  he  says, — 
"Well,  I'll  jes'  stand  in  with  Wess- 

I'm  no  hog !  "     And  Tunk  says, — ' '  I 

Guess  I'll  pastur'  out  on  pie 

With  the  Mudsock  boys ! "    says  he ; 
"Now  what's  yourn?"  he  says  to  me: 

I  chawed  on  —  fer    -quite  a  spell  — 

Then  I  speaks  up,  slow  and  dry, — 
"Jes'  tobacker!"  I-says-I. — 

And  you'd  orto'  heerd  'em  yell! 


104 


I\'L\<;HY'S  MILL. 

old  Braudywinc  —  about 

Where   White's   Lots  is  now  laid  out. 
And   the  old  crick   narries  down 
To  the  ditch   that  splits  the  town, — 
Kingry's  Mill  stood  :     Hardly  see 
"Where  the,  old  dam   list  to  be  ; 
Shallor,   long,  drv  trought  o'  grass 
Where  the  old   race   list  to  pass! 

That's  l)cn   forty   years  ago  — 
Forty  years  oi'  frost   and   snow  - 
Forty  years  of  shade  and  shine 
Senee  them   boyhood  days  o'  mine!-- 
All  the  old   landmarks  o'  town, 
Changed  about,   er  rotted   down  ! 
AVhere's  the  tanyard?      Where's  the 'still? 
Tell  me   where's  old   Kinirry's  ^ 


Don't  seem  furder  back,  to  me, 

I'll  be  dogg'd !  thau  yistcrdy, 

Seuce  us  fellers,  in  bare  feet 

Ami  straw  hats,  went  through  the  wheat, 

Cuttin'  crost  the  shortest  shoot 

Fer  that-air  old  ellum-root 

Jest  above  the  mill-dam,  where 

The  blame'  cars  now  crosses  there ! 

Through  the  willers  down  the  crick 
We  could  see  the  old  mill  stick 
Its  red  gable  up,  as  if 
It  jest  kuowed  we'd  stol'd  the  skiff! 
See  the  winders  in  the  sun 
Blink  like  they  was  wouderun' 
"What  the  miller  ort  to  do 
With  sich  boys  as  me  and  you ! 

But  old  Kingry !  —  who  could  fear 
That  old  chap,  Avith  all  his  cheer?  — 
Leaniii'  at  the  winder-sill, 
Er  the  half-door  of  the  mill, 


106 


Swoppin'  lie?,  and  pokin'  fun 
'Njigglin'  like  his  hoppcr.s  done, 
Laughin'  grists  o'  gold  and  red 
Ixight  out  o'  the  wagon-bed  ! 

What  did  HE  keer  where  we  went  ?  - 
"Jest  keep  out  o'  devilment, 
And  don't  fool  around  the  belts, 
Bolts,   ner  burrs,   ner  nothin'  else 
'Bout  the  blame  machinery, 
And  that's  all  I  ast !  "     says-ee. 
Then  we'd  climb  the  stairs,  and  play 
In  the  bran-bins  half  the  day ! 

Ixickolleet  the  dusty  wall, 
And  the  spider-webs,  and  all ! 
Ixickolleet  the  trimblin'  spout 
Where  the  meal  come  josslin'  out — 
Stand  and  comb  yer  fingers  through 
The  fool-truck  an  hour  er  two  — 
Felt  so  sort  o'  warm-like  and 
Soothin'  to  a  feller's  hand  ! 


107 


Climb,  high  up  above  the  stream, 
And  "coon"  out  the  wobbly  beam 
And  peek  down  from  out  the  lof 
Where  the  weatherboards  was  off — 
Gee-mun-7iee !  w'y,  it  takes  grit 
Even  jest  to  think  of  it ! — 
Lookin'  'way  down  there  below 
On  the  worter  roarin'  so ! 

Rickollect  the  flume,  and  wheel, 
And  the  worter,  slosh  and  reel, 
And  jest  ravel  out  in  froth 
Flossier'n  satin  cloth! 
Rickollect  them  paddles  jest 
Knock  the  bubbles  galley-west, 
And  plunge  under,  and  come  up, 
Drippin'  like  a  worter-pup ! 

And,  to  see  them  old  things  gone 
That  I  onc't  was  bettiu'  on, 
In  rale  pint  o'  fact,  I  feel 
Kiudo'  like  that  worter- wheel, — 


108 


Sorto'  drippy-like  and   wet 
liound  the  eyas— but  paddlin'  yet, 
And,  in  mem'ry,  loafin'  ,<till 
Down  around  old  Kin^ry'*  Mill ! 


10!) 


JONEY. 

TT AD  a  hare-lip  —  Joney  had  : 

-*•  *•  Spiled  his  looks,  and  Jouey  knowed  it ; 

Fellers  tried  to  bore  him,  bad  — 

But,  ef  ever  he  got  mad, 

He  kep'  still  arid  never  showed  it. 
'Druther  have  his  mouth,  all   pouted 

And  split  up,  and  like  it  wuz, 
Than  the  ones  'at  laughed  about  it. — 

Purty  is  as  purty  does! 

Had  to  listen  ruther  clos't 

'Fore  you  knowed  what  he  wuz  givin' 
You ;  and  yet,  without  no  boast 
Joney  he  wuz  jes'  the  most 

Entertainin'  talker  livin' ! 
Take  the  Scriptures  and  run  through  'em, 

Might  say,  like  a'  auctiouier, 
And  'ud  argy  and  review  'em 

'At  wuz  beautiful  to  hear! 
no 


Hare-lip  and  inpediment, 

Botli  wuz  bad,  and   both  agin  him  — 
But  the  old    folks  where  he  went, 
Team!  like,  knowin'  his  intent, 

'Scused  his  mouth  for  what  wuz  in  him. 
And  the  childcrn  all  loved  Joncy  — 

And  he  loved  'cm  back,  you  bet! — 
Put  their  arms  around   him on'y 

None  had  ever  kissed  him  yet! 

In  young  company,   someway, 

Boys  'ml  grin  at  one-another 
On  the  sly ;  and  girls  'ud  lay 
Low,  with  nothin'  much  to  say, 

Er  leave  Joney  with   their  mother. 
Many  and  many  a  time  he's  fetched  'em 

Candy  by  the  paper-sack, 
And  turned  right  around  and  ketched  'em 

Makin'  mouths  behind  his  back! 


S'prised,  sometimes,  the  slurs  he  took.— 

Chap  said  ouc't  his  mouth  looked  sorter 
Like  a  fish's  mouth  'ud  look 
AVhen  he'd  beu  jerked  off  the  hook 

Aud  plunked  back  into  the  worter. — 
Same  duru  feller  —  its  su'prisiu', 

But  it's  facts  —  'at  stood  and  cherrcd 
From  the  bank  that  big  baptizin' 

Tike-bridge  accident  occurred ! 

Cherred  fer  Joiiey  while  he  give 

Life  to  little  childern  drowndin'! 
Which  wuz  fittenest  to  live  — 
Him  'at  cherred,  er  him  'at  div' 

And  saved  thirteen  lives?  .  .  .  They 

found  one 
Body,  three  days  later,  floated 

Down  the  by-o,  eight  mile'  south, 
All  so  colored-up  and  bloated  — 

On'y  kuowed  him  by  his  mouth ! 


112 


Had  a  hare-lip  —  Jouey  had  — 

Folks  'ut  filed  apast  all  knowcd  it- 
Theni  'ut  ust  to  smile  looked  sad, 
But  ef  HE  thought  good  er  bad, 

He  kep'  still  and  never  showed  it. 
'Druther  have  that  mouth,  all  pouted 

And  split  up,  and  like  it  wuz, 
Than  the  ones  'at  laughed  about  it. 

Purty  is  as  purty  does! 


113 


NOTHIN'  TO  SA  Y. 

ATOTHIN'  to  say,  my  daughter!     Nothiu'  at  all 

•*• '        to  say !  — 

Gyrls  that's  in  love,  I've  noticed,  giuerly  has  their 

way ! 
Yer  mother  did,  afore  you,  when  her  folks 

objected  to  me  — 
Yit  here  I  am,  and  here  you  air ;  aud  yer 

mother  —  where  is  she? 

You  look  lots  like  yer  mother :     Purty  much 

same  in  size ; 
And  about  the  same  complected ;  and  favor  about 

the  eyes : 
Like  her,  too,  about  her  livin'  here, — because  she 

couldn't  stay : 
It'll  'most  seem  like  you  was  dead  —  like  her !  — 

but  I  hain't  got  nothin'  to  say ! 

114 


She  left  you  her  little  Bible  —  writ  yer  name 

acrost  the  page  — 
And  left  her  ear-bobs  fcr  you,  ef  ever  you  come 

of  age. 
I've  allus  kep'  'em  and  gyuarded  'em,   but  ef  yer 

goin'  away  — 
Nothin'  to  say,  my  daughter !     Nothin'  at  all  to  say! 

You  don't  rikollcct  her,   I  reckon  ?     Xo ;    you 

wasn't  a  year  old  then  ! 
And  now  yer  —  how  old  air  you?     Wy,   child, 

not   "  timity!"     When  ? 
And  yer  nex'  birthday's  iu  Aprile?  and  you  want 

to  git  married  that  day  ? 
.  .  .  .  I  wisht  yer  mother  was  livin' ! — but  —  I 

hain't  got  nothin'  to  say ! 

Twenty  year !  and  as  good  a  gyrl  as  parent  ever 

found  ! 
There's  a  straw  ketched  onto  yer  dress  there- — I'll 

bresh   it  off  —  turn   round. 
(Her  mother  was  jes'  twenty  when  us  two  run 

away ! ) 
Nothin'  to  say,  my  daughter!     Nothin'  at  all  to  sav ! 


LIKE  HIS  MOTHER  USED  TO  MAKE. 
"  UNCLE  JAKE'S  PLACE,"  ST.  jo,  MO.,  1874. 

"  T  WAS  born  in  ludiany,"  says  a  stranger, 
-^       lank  and  slim, 
As  us  fellers  in  the  restarunt  was  kinclo'  guyin' 

him, 
And  Uncle  Jake  was  slidin'  him  another 

punkin  pie 
And  a'  extry  cup  o'  coffee,  with  a  twinkle  in 

his  eye, — 
"I  was  born  in  ludiany — more'n  forty  year' 

ago  — 
And  I  hain't  ben  back  in  twenty  —  and  I'm 

workiii'  back'ards  slow ; 
But  I've  et  in  ever'  restarunt  twixt  here  and 

Sauty  Fee, 
And  I  want  to  state  this  coffee  tastes  like  gittin' 

home,  to  me ! 

116 


"  Pour  us  out  another,  Daddy,"  says  the  feller, 

warmin'  up, 
A-speakin'  'crost  a  saucerful,  as  Uncle  tuck  his 

cup,— 
;'  When  I  seed  yer  sign  out  yandcr,"  he  went  on, 

to  Uncle  Jake, — 
"  '  Come  in  and  git  some  coffee  like  yer  mother 

used  to  make '  - 
I  thought  of  my  old  mother,  and  the  Posey 

county  farm, 

And  me  a  little  kid  agin,   a-hangin'  in  her  arm, 
As  she  set  the  pot  a-bilin',  broke  the  eggs  and 

poured  'em  in  "  • 
And  the  feller  kindo'  halted,    with  a  trimble  in 

his  chin  : 

And  Uncle  Jake  he  fetched  the  feller's  coffee 

back,  and  stood 
As  solemn,  fer  a  minute,  as  a'  undertaker 

would  ; 
Then  he  sorto'  turned  and   tiptoed   to'rds  the 

kitchen  door  —  and   next, 
Here  comes  his  old  wife  out    with  him,  a-rubbill' 

of  her  specs   - 


And  she  rushes  fer  the  stranger,  and  she 

hollers  out,  ' '  It's  him  !  — 
Thank  God  we've  met  him  comin'! — Don't  you 

know  yer  mother,  Jim?" 
And  the  feller,  as  he  grabbed  her,  says, — 

"You  bet  I  hain't  forgot — 
But,"  wipin'  of  his  eyes,  says  he,  "yer  coffee's 

mighty  hot ! " 


118 


THE    TRAIN-MISSER. 

AT    UNION    DEPOT. 

'T  L  WHERE  in  the  world  my  eyes  has  bin- 
•*-'     Ef  I  luiint  missed  that  train  agin ! 
Chuff!  and  whistle  !  and  toot!  and  ring! 
But  blast  and  blister  the  dasted  train !  — 
How  it  does  it  I  can't  explain  ! 
Git  here  thirty-five  minutes  before 
The  dern  thing's  due! — and,  drat  the  thing! 
It'll  manage  to  git  past — shore! 

The  more  I  travel  around,  the  more 
I  got  no  sense !  —  To  stand  right  here 
And  let  it  beat  me!     'LI  ding  my  melts! 
I  got  no  gumption,   ner   nothin'  else! 
Ticket  Agent's  a  dad-burned  bore!  — 
Sell  you  a  ticket's  all  they  keer!  — 

119 


Ticket  Agents  ort  to  all  be 
Prosecuted  —  and  that's  jes'  what !  — 
How'd  I  know  which  train's  for  me? 
And  how'd  I  know  which  train  was  not? — 
Goern  and  comin'  and  gone  astray, 
And  backin'  and  switchiu'  ever*- which- way ! 

Ef  I  could  jes'  sneak  round  behind 
Myse'f,  where  I  could  git  full  swing, — 
I'd  lift  my  coat,  and  kick,  by  jing! 
Till  I  jes'  got  jerked  up  and  fined ! — 
Fer  here  I  stood,  as  a  dern  fool's  apt 
To,  and  let  that  train  jes'  chuff  and  choo 
Right  apast  me  —  and  mouth  jes'  gapped 
Like  a  blamed  old  sandwitch  warped  in  two ! 


120 


GRANNY. 

CRANNY'S  conic  to  our  house, 

And  ho  !  my  lawzy-daisy ! 
All  the  childern  round  the  place 

Is   ist   a-runiii'  crazy ! 
Fetched  a  cake  for  little  Jake, 

And  fetched  a  pic  fer  Nanny, 
And  fetched  a  pear  fer  all  the  pack 

That  runs  to  kiss  ther  Granny ! 

Lucy  Ellen's  in  her  lap, 

And  Wade,  and  -Silas  Walker, 
Bo th's  a-ridin'  on  her  foot, 

And  'Polios  on  the  rocker ; 
And  Marthy's  twins,  from  Aunt  Mann's, 

And  little  orphant  Anny, 
All's  a-eatin'  gingerbread 

And  giggle-un  at  Granny ! 


121 


Tells  us  all  tne  fairy  tales 

Ever  thought  er  wundered  — 
And  'bundance  o'  other  stories  — 

Bet  she  knows  a  hunderd  !  — 
Bob's  the  one  for  "  Whittington," 

And  "Golden  Locks"  for  Fanny! 
Hear  'em  laugh  and  clap  ther  hands, 

Listenin'  at  Granny ! 

"Jack  the  Giant-Killer" 's   good- 

Aud  "  Bean-stalk"  's  another  — 
So's  the  one  of  Cinderell' 

And  her  old  godmother ;  — 
That  uu's  best  of  all  the  rest  — 

Bestest  one  of  any, — 
Where  the  inices  scampers  home 

Like  we  runs  to  Granny ! 

Granny's  come  to  our  house, 

Ho !  my  lawzy-daisy  ! 
All  the  childern  round  the  place 

Is  1st    a-runnin'  crazy  ! 


122 


Fetched  a  cake  fer  little  Jake, 
And  fetched  a  pie  fer  Nanny, 

And  fetched  a  pear  fer  all  the  pack 
That  ruiis  to  kiss  ther  Graimy! 


OLD  OCTOBER. 

OCTOBER'S  purt'  nigh  gone, 
the  frosts  is  comiu'  on 
Little  heavier  every  day  — 
Like  our  hearts  is  thataway! 
Leaves  is  changiu'  overhead 
Back  from  green,  to  gray  and  red, 
Brown,  and  yeller,  with  their  stems 
Loosenin'  on  the  oaks  and  e'ms; 
And  the  balance  of  the  trees 
Gittiu'  balder  every  breeze  — 
Like  the  heads  we're  scratchin'  on  ! 
Old  October's  purt'  nigh  gone. 

I  love  Old  October  so, 
I  can't  bear  to  see  her  go  — 
Seems  to  me  like  losin'  some 
Old-home  relative,  er  chum  — 
'Pears  like  sorto'  settin'  by 
Some  old  friend  'at  sigh  by  sigh 

124 


Was  a-passin'  out  o'  sight 
Into  everlastin'  night ! 
Hickernuts  a  feller  hears 
Rattlin'  down  is  more  like  tears 
Drappin'  on  the  leaves  below  — 
I  love  Old  October  so! 

Can't  tell  what  it  is  about 
Old  October  knocks  me  out !  — 
I  sleep  well  enough  at  night  — 
And  the  blamedest  appetite 
Ever  mortal  man   possessed, — 
Last  thing  et,  it  tastes  the  best!- 
Warnuts,  butternuts,  pawpaws, 
Ties  and  limbers  up  my  jaws 
Fer  raal  service,  sich  as  new 
Pork,  spareribs,  and  sausage,  too.- 
Yit,   fer  all,   they's  somepin'  'bout 
Old  October  knocks  me  out! 


JIM. 

HE  was  jes'  a  plain,  ever'-day,  all-round  kind  of 
a  jour., 

Consumpted-lookin'  —  but  la  ! 
The  jokeiest,  wittiest,  story-tellin',  song-singin', 

laughin'est,  j  oiliest 
Feller  you  ever  saw ! 
Worked  at  jes'  coarse  work,  but  you  kin  bet  he 

was  fine  enough  in  his  talk, 
And  his  feelin's  too! 
Lordy !  ef  he  was  on'y  back  on  his  bench  agin 

to-day,  a-carryiu'  ou 
Like  he  ust  to  do ! 

Any  shop-mate'll  tell  you  there  never  was,  on  top 
o'  dirt, 

A  better  feller'n  Jim ! 
You  want  a  favor,  and  couldn't  git  it  anywheres 

else  — 

You  could  git  it  o'  him  ! 

120 


Most  free-heartedest  man  thataway  in  the  world,  I 


guess 


Give  up  ever'  nickel  he's  worth  — 
And,  ef  you'd  a-wanted  it,  and  named  it  to  him, 

and  it  was  his, 
He'd  a-give  you  the  earth ! 

All  us  a-reachiu'  out,  Jim  was,  and  a  he'pin'  some 

Pore  feller  onto  his  feet  — 
He'd  a-never  a-keered  how  hungry  he  was  hisse'f, 

So's  the  feller  got  somepin'  to  eat ! 
Didn't  make  no  difference  at  all  to  him  how  he 
was  dressed, 

He  ust  to  say  to  me, — 

"  You  togg  out  a  tramp  purty  comfortable  in 
winter  time,  a-huntin'  a  job, 

And  he'll  git  along !  "  says  he. 

Jim  didn't  have,  ner  never  could  git  ahead  so 

overly  much 

0'  this  world's  goods  at  a  time. — 
'Fore  now  I've  saw  him,  more'n  ouc't,  lend  a 
dollar,  and  haf  to,  more'n  likely, 
Turn  round  and  borry  a  dime ! 

127 


Mebby  laugh  and  joke  anout  it  hisse'f  fer  a 

while  —  then  jerk  his  coat, 
And  kindo'  square  his  chin, 
Tie  on  his  apern,  and  squat  hisse'f  on  his  old 

shoe-bench, 
And  go  to  peggin'  agin! 

Patientest  feller,  too,  I  reckon',  at  ever  jes' 

naturely 

Coughed  hisse'f  to  death  ! 
Long  enough  after  his  voice  was  lost  he'd  laugh 

in  a  whisper  and  say 
He  could  git  ever' thing  but  his  breath  — 
"You  fellers,"  he'd  sorto'  twinkle  his  eyes  and  say, 

' '  Is  a-pilin  onto  rne 
A  mighty  big  debt  for  that-air  little  weak-chested 

ghost  o'mine  to  pack 
Through  all  Eternity!" 

Now  there  was  a  man  'at  jes'  'peared  like,  to  me, 

'At  ortn't  a-never  a-died! 
"But  death  hain't  a-showin'  no  favors,"  the  old 

boss  said, 
' '  On'y  to  Jirn  ! "  and  cried : 

128 


And  Wigger,  who  puts  up  the  best  sewed-work 

in   the  shop, 

Er  the  whole  blame  neighborhood, 
He  says,   "When  God  made  Jim,  I  bet  you  He 

didn't  do  anything  else  that  day 
But  jos'  set  arouud  and  feel  good ! " 


A  TALE  OF  THE  AIRLY  DAYS. 

OH!    TELL  ME  a  talc  of  the  airly  clays  - 
Of  the  times  as  they  ust  to  be ; 
"Filler  Of  Fire,"  aud  "  Shakspeare's  Plays," 

Is  a  'most  too  deep  fer  me! 
I  want  plain  facts,  and  I  want  plain  words, 

Of  the  good  old-fashioned  ways, 
When  speech  run  free  as  the  songs  of  birds  — 
'Way  back  in  the  airly  days. 

Tell  me  a  tale  of  the  timber- lauds, 

And  the  old-time  pioneers  — 
Somepin'  a  pore  man  understands 

With  his  feelins',  well   as  ears: 
Tell  of  the  old  log  house, — about 

The  loft,  and  the  puncheon  floor  — 
The  old  fire-place,  with  the  crane  swung  out, 

And  the  latch-string  through  the  door. 

J30 


Tell  of  the  things  jcs.t  like  they  wuz — 

They  dou't  need  uo  excuse ! 
Don't  tcteli'em  up  like  the  poets  does, 

Till  they're  all  too  fiue  fer  use ! 
Say  they  \vuz  'Icvcu  in  the  family  — 

Two  beds  and  the  chist  below, 
Arid  the  trundle-beds  'at  each  licit  three; 

And  the  clock  and  the  old  bureau. 

Then  blow  the  horn  at  the  old   back  door 

Till  the  echoes  all  halloo, 
And    the  childern  gethers  home  onc't  more, 

Jest  as  they  list  to  do ; 
Blow  fer   Pap  till   he  hears  and  comes, 

With  To m ps  and  Elias,   too, 
A-marchin'   home,   with  the  life  and  drums, 

And    the  old    Red   White  and    Blue! 

Blow  and   blow  — till    the  sound   draps  low 
As  the  moan  of  the  whipperwill, 

And  wake  up  Mother,  and   Knth,  and  Jo, 
All  sleepin'  at  Bethel  Hill ; 


Blow  and  call  till  the  faces  all 

Shine  out  in  the  back-log's  blaze, 
And  the  shadders  dance  on  the  old  hewed  wall, 

As  they  did  in  the  airly  days. 


132 


TO  ROBERT  BURNS. 

P  WEET  SINGER,  that  I  loo  the  maist 
^     O'  ouy,  sin'  wi'  eager  haste 
I  smacket  bairn-lips  ower  the  taste 

0'   hinuied  sang, 
I  hail  thee,  though  a  blessed  ghaist 

In  Heaven  laug! 

For,  weel  I  ken,  nae  cautie  phrase, 
Nor  courtly  airs,  nor  lairdly  ways, 
Could  gar  me  freer  blame,  or  praise, 

Or  proffer  hand, 
Where  "Rantin'  Robbie"  and  his  lays 

Thegither  stand. 

And  sac  these  hamcly  lines  I  send, 
Wi'  jiuglin'"  words  at  ilka  end, 


In  echo  of  the  sangs  that  wend 

Frae  thee  to  me 
Like  simmer-brooks,  wi'  mony  a  bend 

O'  wimpliu'  glee. 

In  fancy,  as  wi'  dewy  een, 

I  part  the  clouds  aboon  the  scene 

AVhere  thou  wast  born,  and  peer  atweeu, 

I  see  nac  spot 
In  a'  the  Ilielands  half  sae  green 

And  uuforgot! 

I  see  nae  storied  castle-hall, 

Wi'  banners  flauntin'  ower  the  wall, 

And  serf  and  page  in  ready  call, 

Sae  grand  to  me 
As  ane  puir  cotter's  hut,  wi'  all 

It.s  poverty. 

There  where  the  simple  daisy  grew 
Sae  bonuie  sweet,  and  modest,  too, 


134 


Thy  liltin'  filled  its  wee  head  fu' 

()'  sic  a  grace, 
It  aye  i,s  weepin'  tears  o'  dew 

AVi'  droopit  face. 

Frae  where  the  heather  bluebells  fling 
Their  sangs  o'  fragrance  i<>  the  Spring, 
To  where  the  lavrock  soars  to  sing, 

Still   lives  thy  strain, 
For  a'  the  birds  are  twittering 

Saugs  like  thine  ain. 

And  aye,  by  light  o'  sun  or  moon, 
By  banks  o'  Ayr,  or  Bonnie  Doon, 
The  waters  lilt  nae  tender  tune 

But  sweeter  seems 
Because  they  poured  their  limpid  rune 

Through  a'  thy  dreams. 

AVi'  brimmin'   lip,   and   laughin'  cc, 
Thou  shookcst  even   Grief  wi'  glee, 


Yet  had  nae  niggart  sympathy 

Where  Sorrow  bowed, 

But  gavest  a'  thy  tears  as  free 
As  a'  thy  gowd. 

And  sae  it  is  we  loe  thy  name 
To  see  bleeze  up  wi'  sic  a  flame, 
That  a'  pretentious  stars  o'  fame 

Maun  blink  asklent, 
To  see  how  simple  worth  may  shame 

Their  brightest  glent. 


336 


A  XEW  YEAR'S  TIME  AT  WILLARDS'8. 
I. 

THE   HIRED   MAN   TALKS. 

SPHERE'S  old  man  Willards;  an'  his  wife; 
*•      An'  Marg'et  —  S'repty's  sister; — an' 

There's  me  —  an'  I'm  the  hired  man, 
An'  Tomps  McClure,  you  bet  yer  life ! 

Well,   now,   old  "NVillards  haint  so  bad, 

Cousiderin'  the  chance  he's  had, 

Of  course,  he's  rich,  an'  sleeps  an'  eats 

Whenever  he's  a  mind  to :     Takes 
An'  leans  back  in  the  Amen-seats, 

An'  thanks  the,  Lord  fer  all  he  makes  — 
That's  purty  much  all  folks  has  got 
Ag'inst  the  old  man,   like  as  not! 
But    there's  his  woman- — jes'  the  turn 
Of  thcm-air  two  wild  girls  o'  hern  — 

Marg'et  an'  S'repty- — allus  in 
Fer  any  cuttin'-up  concern  — 

Church  fcstibals,  an'  foolishiu' 


Round  Christmas  trees,  an'  New  Year's  sprees- 

Set  up  to  watch  the  Old  Year  go 
An'  New  Year  come  —  sich  things  as  these ; 

An'  turkey  dinners,  don't  you  know! 
S'repty  's  younger,  an'  more  gay, 

An'  purtier,  an'  finer  dressed 
Thau  Marg'et  is  —  but  Lawsy-day ! 
She  haint  the  independeutest !  — 
"Take  care!"  old  Willards  used  to  say, 
"Take  care!      Let  Marg'et  have  her  way, 
An'  S'repty,  you  go  off  an'  play 
On  your  melodeum  ! " — But  best 

Of  all  comes  Tomps !     An'  I'll  be  bound, 
Ef  he  haint  jes'  the  beatin'est 

Young  chap  in  all  the  country  round  ! 
Ef  you  kuowed  Tomps  you'd  like  him, 

shore ! 
They  haint  no  man  on  top  o'  ground 

Walks  into  my  affections  more  !  — 
An'  all  the  settlemeut'll  say 
That  Tornps  was  liked  jes'  thataway 
By  ever'body,  till  he  tuck 

A  shine  to  S'repty  Willards. — Then 
You'd  orto'  see   the  old  man  ' '  buck," 

138 


An'  h'ist  hisse'f,  an'  paw  the  dirt, 

An'  hint  that  common  workin'-men 
That  didn't  want  their  feeliu'.s  hurt, 

Had  better  hunt  fer  "  comp'uy "  where 
The  folks  was  pore  an'  didn't  care !  — 
The  pine-blank  facts- is, —  the  old  man, 
Last  Christmas  was  a  year  ago, 

Found  out  some  presents  Tomps  had  got 
Fer  S'repty,  an'  hit  made  him  hot  — 
Set  down  an'  tuck  his  pen  in  hand 
An'  writ  to  Tomps  an'  told  him  so 
On  legal   cap,   in   white  an'  black, 
An'  give  him  jes'  to  understand 
"No  Christmas-gifts  o'  '  lilly-white ' 
An'  bear's -ile  could  fix  matters  right," 

An'  wropped  'em  up  an'  sent  'em  back ! 
W'oll,   S'repty  cried  and  snuffled   round 

Consid'able.      But  Marg'et  she 
Toed  out  another  sock,  an'  wound 
Her  knittiu'  up  an'  d rawed  the  tea, 

An'  then  set  on  the  supper  things, 
An'  went  up  in   the  loft  an'  dressed  — 
An'  through   it  all   you'd   never  guessed 

What  she   was  up  to !      An'  she  brings 


Her  best  hat  with  her  an'  her  shawl, 
An'  gloves,  an'  redicule,  an'  all, 
An'  injirubbers,  an'  comes  down 
An'  tells  'em  she's  a-goin'  to  town 
To  he'p  the  Christmas  goin's-on 
Her  church  got  up.     An'  go  she  does  — 
The  best  hosswoman  ever  was! 
"An'  what'll  WE  do  while  you're  gone?" 
The  old  man  says,  a-tryiu'  to  be 
Agreeable.     "Oh!  you?"  says  she, — 
"  You  kin  jaw  S'repty,  like  you  did, 
An'  slander  Tomps !  "     An'  off  she  rid  ! 

Now,  this  is  all  I'm  goin'  to  tell 
Of  this  here  story  —  that  is,  I   . 
Have  done  my  very  level  best 
As  fer  as  this,  an'  here  I  "  dwell," 
As  auctioneers  says,  winkiu'  sly  : 

Hits  old  man  Willards  tells  the  rest. 

ii. 

THE   OLD   MAN   TALKS. 

Adzackly  jes'  one  year  ago, 

This  New  Year's  day,  Tomps  comes  to  me- 

140 


In  my  own  house,  an'  while  the  folks 
Was  gittin'  dinner, — an'  he  pokes 
His  nose  right  in,  an'   says,  says  he: 
'I  got  yer  note — an'    read  it  slow! 
You  don't  like  me,  ucr  I  don't  you," 

He  says, — "we're  even  there,  you  know! 
But   you've  said,  furdcr,  that  no  gal 
Of  youru  kin  marry  me,  er  shall, 
An'  I'd  best  shot  off  comin',  too !  " 

An'  then  he  says, — "  Well  them's  YOUR  view* 
But,  haviu'  talked  with  S'repty,  we 
Have  both  agreed  to  disagree 
With  your  peculiar  notions  some, 

An'  that's  the  reason  I  refuse 

To  quit  a-comin'  here,  but  come  — 
Not  for  to  threat,  ner  raise  no  skcer, 
An'  spile  yer  turkey-dinner  here, — 
But,  jes'  fer  S'repty's  sake,  to  sheer 
Yer  New  Year's.     Shall  I  take  a  cheer?" 

Well,  blame-don  !  ef  I  ever  see 

Sich  impidence !     I  couldn't  say 
Not  nary  word  !     But  mother  she 

Sot  out  a  cheer   fer  Tomps,  an'  they 

111 


Shuck  hands  an'  turned  their  back  on  me. 

Then  I  riz  —  mad  as  mad  could  be  — 

But  Marg'et  says, — "Now,  Pap!      you  set 
Right  where  you're  settin'!     Don't  you  fret! 

An'  Tomps,  you  warm  yer  feet ! "  says  she, 
"An'  throw  yer  mitts  an'  comfort  'on 
The  bed  there!     Where  is  S'repty  gone?  — 
The  cabbage  is  a-scortchiu' !     Ma, 
Stop  cryin'  there  an'  stir  the  slaw !  " 

Well !  —  what  was  Moilier   cryin7  fer  ?  — 
I  half  riz  up  —  but  Marg'et's  chin 
Hit  squared — an'  I  set  down  agin  — 

I  allus  was  afeared  o'  her  — 

I  was,  by  jucks!     So  there  I  set, 

Betwixt  a  smkin'-chill  an'  sweat, 

An'  scuffled  with  my  wrath,  an'  shet 

My  teeth  to  mighty  tight,  you  bet ! 
An'  yit,  fer  all  that  I  could  do, 

I  eeched  to  jes'  git  up  au'  whet 
The  carvin'-kuife  a  rasp  er  two 
On  Tomps's  ribs  —  an'  so  would  you  !  — 

Fer  he  had  riz  an'  faced  around, 

An'  stood  there,  smilin',  as  they  brung 

The  turkey  in,  all  stuffed  an'  browned  — 

142 


Too  sweet  for  nose  er  tooth  er  tongue! 
With  sniffs  o'  sage,  1111'  p'raps  a  dash 

Of  old  burnt  brandy,  stcamiu'  hot 
Mixed  kind  o'  in  with  apple-mash, 

An'  miiice-meat,  an'  the  Lord  knows  what! 
Nobody  was  a-talkiu'  then 

To  'iilliate  my  awk'ardncss — 

No  noise  o'  any  kind,  but  jcs' 
The  rattle  o'  the  dishes  when 
They'd  fetch  'em  in  an'  set  'em  down, 
An'  fix  an'  change  'em  round  an'  round, 

Like  women  docs  —  Till  mother  says, — 
"  Vittels  is  ready;  Abncr,  call 

Down  S'repty — -she's  up  stairs,  I  guess. "- 
And  Marg'et   s/te  says,   "  Ef  you  bawl 
Like  that,   she'll   not  come  down  at  all  ! 
Besides,   we  needn't  wait  till   she 
Gits  down  !     Here,   Tonips,   set  down   by  rue, 

An'  Pap,  say  grace!"     Well,   there  I  was, 
What  could  I  do  !     I  drapped  my  head 
Behind  my  fists  an'  groaned,   an'  said  : — 
"Indulgent  Parent!  in  Thy  cause 
We  bow  the  head  an'  bend  the  knee, 


An'  break  the  bread,  an'  pour  the  wine, 
Feelin' " —  (The  stair-door  suddently 
Went  bang!  an'  S'repty  flounced  by  me)  — 
' Feelin',"  I  says,  "this  feast  is  Thine  — 

This  New  Year's  feast" — An'  rap-rap-rap! 

Went  Marg'et's  case-knife  on  her  plate  — 
An'  next,  I  heerd  a  sasser  drap, — 

Then  I  looked  up,  an'  strange  to  state, 
There  S'repty  set  in  Tomps's  lap  — 

An'  huggin'  him,  as  shore  as  fate !  — 
An'  mother  kissin'  him  k-slap! 
An'  Marg'et  —  she  chips  in  to  drap 

The  ruther  peert  remark  to  me :  — 
"That  'grace'  o'  yourn,"  she  says,   "wont 

'gee'— 

This  haint  no  '  New   Year's  feast,'"  says  she,— 
"  This  is  a'  Inf air  Dinner ,  Pap  I" 

An'  so  it  was! — Ben  married  fer 

Purt'nigh  a  week !  — 'Twas  Marg'et  planned 
The  whole  thing  fer  'em,  through  an' 

through. 
I'm  reconciled;  an',  understand, 


144 


I  take  things  jes'  as  they  occur, — 

Ef  Manjd   liked  Tomp.s,  Tomps  'ud  do! 
But  I-says-I,  a-holt  his  hand, — 
"I'm  glad  you  didn't  marry  HER  — 
'Cause  Marg'et's  my  guardeen—Yes,  sir!  — 
Au'  S'repty'fcS  good  euough  for  you ! " 


THE  TOWN  KARSTEEL. 

town  Karuteel! — It's  who'll  reveal 
-^    Its  praises  jushtifiable? 
For  who  can  sing  av  anything 

So  lovely  and  reliable  ? 
Whin  Summer,  Spring,  or  Winter  lies 

From  Malm's  Head  to  Tippcrary, 
There's  no  such  town  for  interprise 

Bechuxt  Youghal  and  Londonderry ! 

There's  not  its  likes  in  Ireland  — 
For  twic't  the  week,  be-gorries ! 
They're  playing  jigs  upon  the  band  — 
And  joomping  there  in  sacks — and  —  and  — 
And  racing,  wid  wheel-berries ! 

Karnteel  — its  there,  like  any  fair, 
The  purty  gurrls  is  plinty,  sure !  — 

And,  man-alive!  at  forty-five 

The  legs  av  me  air  twinty,  sure ! 

146 


I  lave  mo  cares,  and  hoein',  too, 

Behint   me,  as  is  siusible, 
And  its  Karnteel  I'm  goin'  to, 

To  cilebrate  in  principal ! 

For  there's  the  town  av  all  the  land  ! 

And  twic't  the  week,  be-gorries! 
They're  playing  jigs  upon  the  band, 
And  joomping  there  in  sacks  —  and — and 

And   racing,  wid  wheel-berries ! 

And  whilst  I  feel  for  ould  Karnteel 

That  I've  no  phrases  glorious, 
It  stands  above  the  need  av  love 

That  boasts  in  voice   uproarious!  — 
Lave  that  for  Cork,   and   Dublin,   too, 

And  Armagh  and  Killarney,   thin, — 
And  Karnteel   won't  be  troubliu'  you 

Wid  any  jilous  blarney,   thin  ! 

For  there's  the  town  av  all   the  land, 
Where  twic't  the  week,   be-gorrics! 
They're  playing  jigs  upon  the  band  — 
And   joomping  there  in  sacks — and — and - 
And  racing,   wid  wheel-borries ! 


REGARDIN'  TERRY  HUT. 

SENCE  I  tuck  holt  o'  Gibbses  Churn 
And  ben  a-handlin'  the  concern, 
I've  traveled  round  the  grand  ole  State 
Of  Indiauy  lots,  of  late  ! 
I've  canvassed  Crawferdsville  and  sweat 
Around  the  town  of  Lafayette; 
I've  saw  a  many  a  County-seat 
I  ust  to  think  was  hard  to  beat : 
At  constant  dreeuage  and  expense 
I've  worked  Greencastle  and  Vinceuues  - 
Drapped  out  o'  Putnam  into  Clay, 
Owen,  and  on  down  thataway 
Plum'  into  Knox,  on  the  back-track 
Fer  home  agin  —  and  glad  I'm  back  !  — 
I've  saw  these  towns,  as  I  say  —  but 
They's  none  'at  beats  ole  Terry  Hut ! 

Its  more'n  likely  you'll  insist 

I  claim  this  'cause  I'm  predjudist, 

148 


Bein'  born'd  here  iu  ole  Vygo 

lu  sight  o'  Terry  Hut ;  —  but  no, 

Yer  clean  dead  wrong! — and  I  maintain 

Thcy's  nary  drap  in  ary  vein 

O'  mine  but  what's  as  free  as  air 

To  jest  take  issue  with  you  there  !  — 

'Cause,  boy  and  man,  for  forty  year, 

I've  argied  aginst  liviu'  here, 

And  jawed  around  aud  traded  lies 

About  our  lack  o'  enterprise ; 

And  tuck  and  turned  in  and  agreed 

All  other  towns  was  in  the  lead, 

When — drat  my  melts!  —  they  couldn't  cut 

No  shine  a-tall  with  Terry  Hut ! 

Take,  even,  statesmanship  and  wit, 

And  ginerel  git-up-aud-git, — 

Ole  Terry  Hut  is  sound  clean  through  ! — 

Turn  ole  Dick  Thompson  loose,  er  Dan 

Vorehees  —  and  where's  they  any  man 

Kin  even  hold  a  candle  to 

Their  eloquence  ?     And  where's  as  clean 

A  fi-nan-seer  as  Rile'  McKeen  — 

Er  puorer,  in  his  daily  walk, 

149 


In  railroad  er  in  racein'  stock! 

And  there's  'Gene  Debs  —  a  man  'at  stands 

And  jest  holds  out  in  his  two  hands 

As  warm  a  heart  as  ever  beat 

Betwixt  here  and  the  Jedgement  Seat!  — 

All  these  is  reasons  why  I  put 

Sich  bulk  o'  faith  in  Terry  Hut. 

So  I've  come  back,  with  eyes  'at  sees 
My  faults,  at  last,— to  make  my  peace 
With  this  old  place,  and  truthful  swear  — 
Like  Giueral  Tom  Nelson  does, — 

"They  haint  no  city  anywhere 
On  God's  green  earth  lays  over  us!" 
Our  city  govameut  is  grand  — 

"Ner  is  they  better  farmiu'-land 
Sun-kissed  "  — as  Tom  goes  on  and  says  — 

' '  Er  dower'd  with  sich  advantages !  " 
And  I've  come  back,  with  welcome  tread, 
From  journey in's  vain,  as  I  have  said, 
To  settle  down  in  ca'm  content, 
And  cuss  the  towns  where  I  have  went, 
And  brag  on  ourn  and  boast  and  strut 
Around  the  streets  o'  Terry  Hut! 

150 


LKKD LE  D  UTCH  EA 7?  Y. 

T  EKDLE  Dutch  baby  huff  come  ter  town! 
•*-v     Jabber  und  jump  till  der  day  gone  down 
Jabber  und  ?phl utter,   und  sphlit    bees  jaws  — 
Yot  a  Dutch  baby  dees  Launsmon  vas! 
I   dink  dose  niout'  vas  leedle  too  vide 
Ober  he  laugh  fon  dot  also-side ! 
TLiff  got  blenty  off  deemple  und  vrown — 
Ilcy !  leedle  Dutchman,  come  ter  town ! 

Leedle  Dutch  babv,   T  dink  me  proud 
Ober  your  fader  can  schquall   dot  loud 
Yen  he  vas  leedle   Dutch  baby  like  you, 
Uiid  yoost  don't  gare  like  he  alvays  do!  — 
Guess  yen  dey  vean  him  on  beer,   you  bet 
Dot's  der  because  dot  he  aind   veaned   yet !- 
Yot  you  said  off  he  drink  you  down? 
Hey !  leedle  Dutchman,  conn;  ter  town! 


Leedle  Dutch  baby,  yoost  schquall  avay- 
Schquall  fon  preakfast  till  gisterday  ! 
Better  you  all  time  cry  und  shout 
Dan  shmile  me  vonce  fon  der  coffin  out! 
Vot  I  gare  off  you  keek  my  nose 
Downside- up  mit  your  heels  unt  toes  — 
Downside,  oder  der  upside-down. — 
Hey!  leedle  Dutchman,  come  ter  town! 


DOWN  ON  WRIGGLE  CRICK. 

Best  Time  to  Kill  a  Hog  's  when  lie  's  Fat. — Old  Saw. 

MOSTLY,  folks  is  law  ahidin', 
Down  on  Wriggle  Crick, — 
Seem'  they's  no  'Squire  rcsidin' 

In  our  haily  wick  ; 
No  grand-juries — no  suppeenies, 

Ncr  no  vested  rights  to  pick 
Out  yer  man,  jerk  up  and  jail  of 
lie's  outragin'  Wriggle  Crick ! 

Wriggle  Crick  haint  got  no  lawin', 

Ner  no  suits  to  heat ; 
Ner  no  court-house  gee-and-hawin' 

Like  a  county-seat ; 
Haint  no  waitin'  round  for  verdieks, 

Ner  uon-gittin'  witness-fees: 
Ncr  no  tliiefs  'at  gits  "new  hearin's," 

By  some  lawyer  slick  as  grease! 


Wriggle  Cricks's  leadiu'  spirit 

Is  old  Johnts  Culwell, — 
Keeps  postoffice,  and  right  near  it 

Owns  what's  called  "The  Grand  Hotel "- 
(Warehouse  now) — buys  wheat  and  ships  it; 

Gits  out  ties,  and  trades  in  stock, 
And  knows  all  the  high-toned  drummers 

'Twixt  South  Bend  and  Mishawauk. 

Last  year  comes  along  a  feller  — 

Sharper  'an  a  lance, — 
Stovepipe-hat,  and  silk  umbreller, 

And  a  boughten  all-wool  pants, — 
Tiukerin'  of  clocks  and  watches ; 

Says  a  trial's  all  he  wants  — 
And  rents  out  the  tavern-office 

Next  to  uncle  Johnts. 

Well. — He  tacked  up  his  k'dentials, 

And  got  down  to  biz. — 
Captured  Johnts  by  cuttin'  stencils 

Fer  them  old  wheat-sacks  o'  his. — 


154 


Fixed  his  clock,  in  the  postoffice — 
Painted  fer  him,  clean  and  slick, 

'Crost  his  safe  in  gold-leaf  letters, 
"  J.  Cullwells's,  Wriggle  Crick." 

Any  kind  o'  job  you  keered  to 

Resk  him  with,  and  bring, 
He'd  fix  fer  you — jest  appeared  to 

Turn  his  hand  to  anything  !  — 
Rings,  er  earbobs,  cr  umbrellers  — 

Glue  a  cheer,  er  chany  doll, — 
W'y,  of  all  the  beatin'  fellers 

He  jest  beat  'em  all ! 

Made  his  friends,  but  wouldn't  stop  there, 

One  mistake  he  learnt, 
That  was,   slcepin'    in   his  shop  there. — 

And  one  Sunday  night  it  burnt  ! 
Come  in  one  o'  jest  a-sweepin' 

All  the  whole  town  high  and  dry  - 
And  that  feller,   when  they  waked  him, 

Sufl'ocatin',  mighty  nigh  ! 


Johnts  he  drug  him  from  the  buildin', 

Helpless — 'peared  to  be, — 
And  the  women  and  the  childem 

Drenchin'  him  with  sympathy ! 
But  I  noticed  Johnts  belt  on  him 

With  a'  extry  lovin'  grip, 
And  the  men-folks  gethered  round  him 

In  most  warmest  pardership! 

That's  the  whole  mess,  grease  and  dopin' ! 

Johnts's  safe  was  saved, — 
But  the  lock  was  found  sprung  open, 

And  the  inside  caved. 
Was  no  trial  —  ner  no  jury  — 

Ner  no  jedge  ner  court-house-click,— 
Circumstances  alters  cases 

Down  on  Wriggle  Crick  ! 


156 


WITKX  DE  FOLKS  IS  GONE. 

lAT  dat  soratchin'  at  <lc  kitchiii'  do'? 

Done  heah'n  dat  foil  an  hour  or  ino'! 
Tell  you,   Mr.   Niggah,   das  sho's  yo'  bo'n, 
Hit's  might   lonesome  waitiu'  \vhen  de  folks  is 


Blame  my  trap  !  how  de  wind  do  hlow ! 

An'  dis  is  das'  de  night  i'oh   de  witches,   sho' ! 

Dey's  trouble  gon'  to   wasle   \\hen   de  ole  slut 

whine, 
An'  you  heah  de  cat  a-spittin'  when  de  moon  don't 

sliine  ! 

Chune  my  fiddle,   an'  de  bridge  go   "baiiy!" 
An'   I  let'  'or  right  back   whali  she  allns  hang, 
An'  de  tribble  snap  short   an'  de  apern   split 
When  dey  no  mortal  man   wah  a-teehin'  hit! 


Dah !     Now,  what !     How  de  ole  j'ice  cracks ! 
'Spec'  dis  house,  ef  hit  tell  plain  fac's, 
'Ud  talk  about  de  ha'nts  wid  dey  long  tails  on 
What  das'n't  on'y  come  when  de  folks  is  gone ! 

What  I  tuk  an'  done  ef  a  sho'-nuff  ghos' 
Pop  right  up  by  de  ole  bed-pos'? 
What  dat  shiniu'  fru  de  front  do'  crack?  .... 
God  bress  de  Lo'd !  hit's  de  folks  got  back ! 


158 


7777-:  LITTLE  TOWN  0'  TAILHOLT. 

\  TOU  kin  boast  about  ycr  cities,  and  their  stiddy 

growth  and  size, 
And  brag  about  yor  county-seats,  and  business 

enterprise, 

And  railroads,  and  factories,  and  all  sich  foolery — 
But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  big  enough  fer 


You  can  harp  about  yer  churches,   with  their 

steeples  in   the  clouds, 
And  gas  about  yer  graded  streets,  and  blow  about 

yer  crowds  ; 
You  kin  talk  about  yer  theaters,   and  all  you've 

got  to  see  — 
But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  show  enough  fer 


They  haint  no  style  in  our  town  —  hit's  little-like 

and  small  — 
They  haint  no  c.hiircltrx,  nuther, — jes'  the  mectiii'- 

house  is  all ; 


They's  no  sidewalks,  to  speak  of — but  the 

highway's  allus  free, 
And  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  wide  enough  fer 

me! 

Some  finds  its  discommodin'-like,  I'm  williu'  to 

admit, 
To  hev  but  one  postoffice,  and  a  womeru  keepin' 

hit, 
And  the  drugstore,  and  shoeshop,  and  grocery,  all 

three  — 
But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  is  handy  'nough 

fer  me ! 

You  kin  smile,  and  turn  yer  nose  up,  and  joke 

and  hev  ycr  fun, 
And  laugh  and  holler  "Tail-holts  is  better  holts  'u 


none ! 


i  » 


Ef  the  city  suits  you  better,  w'y,  hits  where 

you'd  orto'  be, 
But  the  little  Town  o'  Tailholt  's  good  enough  fer 


me: 


100 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


A     000550611 


